


Gods & Monsters

by addictcas



Series: Gods & Monsters [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Babies, Being Rewritten, Borderline Personality Disorder, Bottom Castiel, Depression, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Dogs, Drug Addiction, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, Eating Disorders, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Happy Ending, Healthy Coping Mechanisms, Infidelity, M/M, Medication, Minor Character Death, Multi, Multiple Personalities, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, On Hiatus, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Underage Non-Con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Rape Recovery, Rehab AU, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sex Addiction, Substance Abuse, Suicide Attempt, Therapy, Top Dean, Triggers, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Withdrawal, and so much angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-02-12 15:03:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 19
Words: 44,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2114385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addictcas/pseuds/addictcas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(rehab AU) When Sam's girlfriend totals his car and lands him in jail for possession, Dean convinces his brother to get treatment at the Riverside Residential Rehabilitation Facility. There's just one catch: Dean has to join him to work through his alcohol addiction. Dean expects the medications, long groups, and therapy sessions. He doesn't, however, expect to fall head over heels for his new roommate, a heroin addict with bright eyes and a dark past.</p><p> </p><p>  <b>-UNDER CONSTRUCTION AND ON HIATUS-</b></p><p> </p><p>So at the time of writing this, my fiance was my only beta reader and well... he's a math guy, I'll just say. So I'll be refurbishing the chapters slowly. I can imagine they are a disaster, given some of the mistakes my new beta readers and the app Grammarly have pointed out to me. I don't want to delete the chapters or totally repost the fic because of the lovely feedback and support I've gotten. But you may want to wait a while before reading this.</p><p>This does give me the chance to add in some new characters and write some disorders more accurately, having had more experience with people who deal with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank my fiance and beta reader, Alex, for being so supportive of all this. Also, Christi, for cheering me on from the beginning and just being a great friend and tumblr wifey overall.
> 
> Every disorder, addiction, or issue is inspired by my experiences in a rehab center, or has been researched thoroughly. The symptoms displayed by these characters in no way represent the majority of the population. I hope no one is triggered or offended by this fic in any way. Please pay attention to the tags.
> 
> Thanks. <3  
> Natalie

 

Thursday October 23rd

Even before Castiel opens his eyes, he knows he's in a hospital. It smells like disinfectant and the lights are too bright, shining through his eyelids and making him see red. His right arm is throbbing, which makes sense considering it's _broken_ , and when he lifts it it's heavy with what can only be a cast. And, oh, he's alive, which wouldn't be true if he were where he passed out, on his cabin floor with a needle in his arm.

He doesn't want to open his eyes, doesn't want to face whoever brought him in, but he wants to ask the nurse for some painkillers and some water for his parched mouth. Castiel can hear someone moving around the room but there are no voices to clue him in to his or her identity. He takes a chance and lifts his lids, squinting immediately at the annoying fluorescent lights and the whiteness of the room. There's a clock on the wall that reads 1:13 am. He's been out for nearly four hours.

There's a nurse with her back to him, doing something near the sink, and Castiel clears his throat. She turns around and he can't help but notice that she's pretty, with a kind smile and big brown eyes, and if he were in any other situation he would be hitting on her in a heartbeat.

“Oh, sweetheart, you're awake.”

Castiel resists the urge to tell her that she couldn't possibly know if he's sweet or not, but he has a feeling any one of his siblings would tell him that that was _rude_ , although he's never been one to stay in the zone of what is socially appropriate. She seems nice enough, though, and he wouldn't want to make her feel uncomfortable.

So instead he croaks out, “Water.” Well, so much for not being rude. So he adds, “Please.”

“Of course. I'm Stella, by the way.”

Castiel closes his eyes as she fills up a Styrofoam cup, trying to find a comfortable position against the stiff pillow, but he gives up by the time the nurse is pushing the cup into his hand. He feels a pinch in his left arm and looks down at it; he's hooked up to an IV.

“This isn't the needle that was in my arm a few hours ago.” What he had intended to say was _thank you_ , but his mind is sluggish and apparently his manners have spiraled down the drain and were replaced with poorly-timed one liners.

Before he can correct himself she says, “I know, hun.” Stella grabs his hand and envelops it in both of her own; they're soft. “You're very lucky to be alive. You must have an angel watching over you.”

Castiel snorts at that. If he does have a guardian angel, it must have taken an extended vacation and never come back, failing to protect him from thirteen years of absolute hell. He doesn't say that, though, just squeezes her hand. They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, her fingers gently traveling over his hand, until she looks at the clock and lets go.

“I'm sorry, I have other patients I need to check on. Here's the nurse call button if you need anything.” She leaves the room, only to pop her head back in after a few seconds. “Oh, I'll let your family know you're awake.”

Castiel opens his mouth to protest, to tell her _please don't let anyone in the room_ , but she's gone before he gets the words out. Moments later the two people he was most dreading seeing come walking through the door.

“ _Leave_ ,” he practically growls.

“That is no way to talk to your elders,” Naomi (who Castiel refuses to call 'mother') snaps. “Haven't you caused enough hurt as it is? Your ridiculous accusation, trying to end your life. This is _not_ how I raised you.”

Castiel laughs, a cold, mirthless sound. “ _You_ didn't raise me. Gabriel did." Her brow furrows at that. "And I wouldn't have tried to off myself if I wasn't trying to get away from _him_.” He raises his good arm toward the man who's moved uncomfortably close to his bed.

“You're confused,” Zachariah says. “You've been lead astray by the sins of the flesh and a desperate need for attention. The drugs, they've made you believe things that aren't true.” It's exactly what he said in front of the entire church, the whole community, and they bought right into it. And now his mother is nodding.

“How can you believe him over me? Your own _blood_?” Castiel knows he really shouldn't expect better from her.

“Zachariah is a good man. And he's been been more of a father to you than your own ever was.”

That is, of course, bullshit. “My father never _hurt me_.”

“And neither did I.” The balding man steps even closer and grabs Castiel's hand. He tries to yank it away but he's weak and Zachariah has a painfully tight grip on it. He looks at their joined hands and makes sure his disgust is evident on his face. “I'm going to pray with you, Castiel.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, trying to cover up how absolutely _terrified_ he is of the man and will he will do to him when they get back to the Garrison.

Cold fingers run over his palm, and the touch is infinitely more disturbing than when Stella had made the same gesture.

“Lord, Heavenly Father, I pray to You today on behalf of this sheep who has been lead astray by the Devil. I thank You for watching over him, for keeping him safe and bringing him back to us. There is a light inside his soul, buried by sin and immaturity, but it was not snuffed out tonight. Please, God, show him Your plans so that that light may shine bright again. In Your most glorious name, amen.”

They leave shortly after that, dismayed by Castiel's response of “Fuck you” and his following refusal to say anything more. He dozes off until the nurse comes in about an hour later, called in by the button when the pain in Castiel's arm and recently acquired migraine became too much for him and he realized he needed something strong. He needs something to numb both the physical discomfort and the emotional distress his visitors brought him.

“I'm sorry, dear, I can't give you painkillers, but you can have some Tylenol.”

Castiel sighs, but doesn't try to argue. Policy is policy, and she's just doing her job. “That would be good, thank you.” So, his manners weren't completely obliterated.

Stella comes back a few minutes later with two pills in a little plastic cup and some sort of brochure in her hand. He eyes it as she hands him the Tylenol and his water.

“What's that?” He gestures with his right arm, a habit, which turns out to be a bad idea.

The nurse hands him the pamphlet with a sad smile. It reads “Riverside Residential Rehabilitation Facility.”

“I'm sorry,” she says again. “But we can't let you go home, for your safety.”

This... this is good. Not as good as what he was going for a few hours ago, but it's the next best thing.

“You can either choose to go to Riverside, or we admit you inpatient here until you're stable.”

Castiel makes up his mind before she even finishes her sentence.

Looks like he's going to rehab.


	2. Chapter 2

Sunday November 2nd

Dean is on his way to pretty drunk as he stands elbow-deep under the hood of an old Ford pickup truck. It's not abnormal; was drunk yesterday, too, and the day before that, and... as for the day before that, he can't really remember that far back. But he's a man of consistency, so Dean has to assume that he was.

He knows it's bad, knows that Bobby would have fired him a long-ass time ago if the guy hadn't practically raised him, but he can't deal with the anxiety, the sense of failure, and the crippling _grief_ that sobriety brings. So yeah, he gets hammered at work, but he still does a damn good job at fixing cars.

Dean's bobbing his head and singing along to “Back in Black” when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He turns down the music and pushes the button on his old, battered phone to answer the call, without looking to see who it is.

“Triple X Adult Entertainment, how can I help you?” he slurs.

“Dean.” It's his brother, so he expects the usual lecture on the irresponsibility and danger of drinking on the job, but it doesn't come.

“Sammy, what's wrong?”

 _Please don't be calling from a hospital_.

There's a pregnant pause during which Dean nearly goes into cardiac arrest before Sam mumbles something Dean can't make out.

“Can you repeat that?”

Sam waits another few seconds before clearing his throat. “I'm in jail.”

Dean's all but takes a nosedive off of the Grand Canyon. This conversation just went downhill. Down a completely different hill than he had expected.

“What happened?” Dean takes a long swig from his flask. He's not nearly drunk enough for this.

“It started when Ruby, you know, my girlfriend Ruby, she, uh...”

“Spit it out.”

“She totaled my car.”

Fuck. He knew that girl was no good for Sam. He _told_ him.

“Go on.”

“And then I was arrested for possession.”

Dean's throat tightens as he struggles to breathe. He slides down to the floor of the garage, leaning his back against the tire of the truck. Out of all the reasons his brother could have been arrested, vandalism, theft, streaking through the goddamn Stanford campus, he would have never thought _possession_.

“Possession of what?”

Sam mumbles something again, but this time Dean hears it.

“I'm sorry, did you just say _meth_?” He pounds his head back against the truck hard enough he's scared he may have just dented it. “What the hell were you thinking?”

This time there is no slowness in Sam's response. “Dean, I'm so sorry. It was stupid, I know. Fuck, _I know_. And now Ruby's in the hospital and I need you to come bail me out.”

“Jesus Christ, Sam.” His baby brother on _drugs_. To say he's having trouble processing that is an understatement.

Sam tells him what his bail is set at and Dean scrubs a hand over his face. He'll have to skimp on groceries. For, like, a _month_.

“I'll have to get time off of work. And _you're_ gonna be the one to tell Bobby why.”

“Please, Dean, I can't face him.” As much as he wants to tell his brother that fine, he'll take the weight of the world for him, he can't.

“This is your mess, Sam, you're gonna have to fix it.”

Dean lowers the phone before his brother can start groveling and possibly change his mind. He walks into the small office where Bobby is on his ancient computer, banging on the monitor and cursing.

“Phone for you,” Dean tells him, holding out the cell. He hopes Sam hasn't hung up on him.

“This better be important, boy.”

“It is.”

Bobby takes the phone and Dean starts pacing the room. He can tell that Sam's procrastinating judging by the lack of anger on Bobby's face during the first minute or so. But then that face finally turns a vibrant shade of red and he starts yelling. Dean almost feels bad for Sam. Almost.

“Have you lost your mind, you damn idjit? Do you have any idea what this does to me, to your _brother_?” There's a pause as Bobby pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just shut up and give me the address.” He grabs a piece of scrap paper and scribbles the location down, telling Sam he'd better get his act together when he gets out.

He hangs up the phone and throws it, and Dean watches helplessly as it shatters against the wall.

“What the fuck, Bobby? I need that!” He grabs the pieces and tries to push them back together, but there's no use. It's destroyed.

Bobby shrugs but at least has the decency to look ashamed. “That thing was a fossil anyways. I'll get you a new one.”

“ _You're_ a fossil.” As far as insults go, it's not Dean's best. Still, he presses on. “The only thing in here older than you is that computer. But you don't see me chucking it across the room.”

“Finish that truck out there and I'll take you to the Sprint store.”

*

True to his word, he gets Dean a new phone. A touch-screen one, much fancier than what he wanted, but hey, he's not complaining. Dean refuses the flirty sales girl's attempt to download the Angry Birds app, but finds a cool one that involves dragons. Bobby gives him crap about it the entire drive back to the garage, but Dean still has fun picking out the different breeds and decorating his island. So what? Sue him.

He waits a few hours to sober up, eating a sandwich Bobby makes him, before the older man claps him on the back in a masculine half-hug and tells Dean to bring Sam back so he can beat some sense into him. Bobby even made him a sack dinner, because as much as he is a hard-ass he's always been way too good to him. Dean sets his dinner in the front seat, even buckles it in so it doesn't spill on the leather upholstery, pushes in a Metallica cassette tape, and hits the road.

Tuesday November 4th 

Okay, so Dean may have stopped at a liquor store on his way to California, but he doesn't drink enough to put him over the legal limit, just enough to stave off the symptoms of withdrawal that were starting to creep up on him. He knows Sam would disapprove, worried he would wreck not only the Impala but Sam's life all over again like dad had, so he swishes his mouth with mouthwash as he parks in the parking lot of the county jail.

Dean's not sure what he was expecting, but he never expected Sam to look so thin, or to have purple splotches under his eyes. Those tired eyes well up with tears, and even though Dean is rightfully pissed at him, he's not heartless, so he grabs his brother and pulls him into a hug.

“I'm so, so sorry Dean, I really am.”

They pull away before the hug can hop the fence into 'uncomfortable.'

“I know you are, Sammy. I'm pissed, sure, but on top of all that I'm glad you're okay.” Dean really doesn't know what he would have done if he'd lost his brother. No doubt drink himself into an early grave. “Come on, let's get something to eat.”

*

The diner they find is quaint, but not quaint enough that they don't have beer. Sam frowns at Dean as he nurses his third one, fidgeting and scratching at his arms,

“What's up with you?” Dean asks, plucking a fry off of Sam's plate. Sam actually ordered a healthier steamed broccoli dish, but didn't bother dealing with the cranky waitress when she got his order wrong, so he really didn't seem to mind Dean stealing them all.

“I feel like bugs are crawling under my skin.”

Dean stifles the urge to tell him that maybe he shouldn't have started taking methamphetamine, because Sam would probably call him a hypocrite. And he'd be right.

“So,” Dean runs a hand over his face, a signature nervous habit. “What are we gonna do about this?”

Sam just shrugs and scratches at his arms again. Helpful.

“I think you should end things with Ruby. She's no good for you.”

Dean expects an argument but all he gets is an “Okay.” Well, that was easy.

“And I think you need to get help. There's that place Ellen works at, River-something or other.”

“Okay.” _Too_ easy. There has to be a catch.

“But you have to go, too.” There it is.

“No.”

Sam sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “Dean, you can't keep living like this. Bobby says you drink half a bottle of Jack a _day_. You'll destroy your liver, if you don't find someway to get yourself killed in an alcohol-related accident at the garage. I can't lose you.” Sam levels him with his heartbreaking kicked puppy look and Dean's resolve crumbles. The “I can't lose you” certainly didn't help, either.

“Fine.” Dean pushes his half-eaten food away and flags down the waitress to get the check. “I can't guarantee it's gonna work.” After all, it didn't help his father, who hit the bottle the day he got home. “But I'll try.”

*

There's a blond woman in a white dress standing outside of Ruby's room at the hospital, and Dean's gut tells him he should hate her. His gut proves to be right when Sam tells him it's Ruby's dealer, Lilith, and Dean glares at her as his brother steps inside the room, wishing that if he only glared hard enough, the bitch would drop dead on site. As soon as the door closes behind Sam she laughs at him, a cold, cruel sound, and Dean balls his hands into fists, focusing on the bite of his fingernails and trying to lower his heart rate so he doesn't commit justifiable homicide.

When Sam comes out a few minutes later, looking surprisingly calm, Dean drags Lilith by the arm into the room, where Ruby is sitting on the bed, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks wet. The dealer wrenches away from him but stays in the room.

“Listen here, ladies, cause I'm only gonna say this once. Stay the hell away from my brother.”

Lilith laughs again but Ruby's face remains blank.

Dean looks at the latter. “I know you're probably facing jail time already.” And he hopes she isn't lucky enough to have someone there to bail her out. “But _you,_ ” he points to the blond. “If you ever even _look_ at Sam again, I will get the cops involved, got it? I'm sure Sam knows where you live, who else you have under your belt, and he'll tell me, I don't doubt it. I will tear it all down. Understand?”

Lilith's snide smile fades and she sneers at him. Dean will take that as a yes.

He's about to leave when a small voice stops him.

“I loved him, you know.”

Dean doesn't grace her with a response, just stalks out of the room and slams the door behind him.

*

They drive to Sam's campus so he can talk to the dean, who allows him a leave of absence as long as he brings back proper paperwork after his treatment, telling him he's a wonderful student and he hopes his attempts at recovery are successful.

Sam tells him his boss at the law firm told him something along those lines, too, before he leans over into Dean's space.

“You smell like a bar.”

“Yeah, well, we ain't in rehab yet.”

So Sam takes the wheel and drives them over to his dorm to pack his things, where he asks Dean to come in with him.

“Why?”

Sam blushes and thumps his head on the steering wheal. “I need you to help me get rid of it.”

“Get rid of...” And then his alcohol-ridden brain catches up. “Oh! Uh, yeah, good. Good for you.”

Sam's dorm room is tidy, like Dean expected. Dean _didn't_ expect, however, just how much of the drug his brother had. As he watches it all go down the toilet, Dean wishes he had the courage to go back to the car and grab his bottle of whiskey, but that's just the kind of shitty person he is.

And the worst part is, the shittier he feels about himself, the more he tries to drown that sense of self-hatred until he's not coherent enough to care. So that's how he spends his trip, getting plastered, while his brother, who just gave up something _huge_ , drives them home.  
  
Wednesday November 5th 

After Sam drags Dean out of the car, Bobby pulls the younger Winchester into a long hug before smacking him upside the head with a newspaper and once again calling him an idjit.

“I'm getting help, Bobby," he tells him, rubbing the sore spot on his head. "Dean, too.”

The older man glances at Dean, who sways on his feet slightly, and then hits him, too, before huffing and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You damn well better. Now come inside, I made sloppy joes.”

After dinner Dean sobers up enough to not sound like a complete idiot and calls the number on the back of the card Bobby handed him, the card for Riverside. The woman he speaks to, Layla, is kind as she explains what to bring and what not to bring, like non-electric razors, and tells him there will be two beds available next Wednesday.

So that gives Dean a week. A week to take the coward's approach to this whole situation and drink away his nervousness before it's all taken away from him.  
  
Thursday November 6th 

He should have known Bobby would find his stash and pour it out. Dean also should have known that Harvelle's Roadhouse (yes, as in _Ellen_ Harvelle, who works at the rehab center Dean is about to check himself into) was the very last bar he should try to obtain a drink at. His stupidity is rubbed in his face when Ellen's daughter, Jo, slides a Coke across the bar top with a self-satisfied smirk.

“What's this?” He stares at the drink, and then at Jo, blinking at her in disbelief.

“No booze for you, Winchester. Mom'll tan my hide if I serve you alcohol.”

“And why is that, exactly?” he asks, though he knows exactly why.

Jo drops a straw into his drink and pushes it closer to him, clearly enjoying his plight. “She told me that Bobby told her that you're going to Riverside.”

He's going to kill Ellen. Or Bobby. Or Jo, although he doesn't really blame her; her mother is one terrifying woman when angry. He really shouldn't blame _any_ of them, and death wishes are pretty harsh for people he knows are just trying to look out for him.

So Dean slaps a ten on the bar top, tells Jo to keep the change, and goes to find a liquor store.


	3. Chapter 3

Wednesday November 12th 

Sam crashed pretty hard after he stopped using, so Dean feels pretty fucking guilty about the fact that he kept drinking up until the moment Bobby shoved them into his truck. He tried to stop, he really did, but then he started getting anxious, and shaky, and all the memories he's been trying to suppress came crawling to the surface. So he put off sobriety until the very last possible moment.

The drive to Riverside is awkwardly silent, with Sam passed out and Bobby pointedly ignoring Dean. Still, Bobby hugs them both when he drops them off at the admissions building, where he leaves them in the hands of Layla, the woman Dean talked to on the phone last week, and she's just as lovely as her voice suggested.

She's also still very polite, offering them coffee (which Dean and Sam both accept) as she brings their luggage and Dean's guitar into a room behind the front desk.

“I also have to take your phones and any other technology with a camera, for the privacy of our other residents.” Damn, that means Dean's iPod. He reluctantly turns them off and hands them over to her.

“Thank you.” Layla says, grabbing a binder from behind the counter. “Now, if you'll please follow me.”

The room she leads them into is much cozier than Dean had expected. He sits down and takes a sip of his coffee, which is actually pretty good. Sam practically chugs his.

“I like that,” Sam says, and Dean turns to see what his brother is looking at. It's a framed flower, made of buttons, and beneath it are the words “Every flower must grow through dirt.”

“One of our residents made it,” Layla tells them. “You'll find a lot of art around here, some of it is very inspirational.”

She opens her binder and pulls out several forms, handing them each a pile. Dean squints at it; the words are a little fuzzy.

Sam goes to get more coffee as Dean starts to fill out the paperwork. There is an emergency contact form (Dean writes down Bobby's information and assumes Sam will do the same), a privacy policy, and consent to treatment, and a rules agreement contract. It takes quite a while, and by the time he's done, Sam has gotten up for a _third_ cup, and Layla just decides to bring in the entire pot. Despite having downed two and a half cups of caffeine, his brother looks like he's going to fall out of his chair, leaning heavily on one hand and nodding off occasionally.

Layla hands them two sports water bottles she brought in with the coffee. “Hydration is very important, so we encourage residents to use these.” Dean likes that she says 'residents' instead of 'patients.' He likes her, period.

“Riverside is divided into three houses. You'll be in house two.”

“What, no sorting hat?” Dean asks. He can't help it, Sam dragged him to see the first movie when it came out.

Sam laughs at that, and Dean is happy he's at least awake enough to catch his reference. Layla smiles, but it's clear she doesn't understand.

“I had to pull some strings to make sure you were both put in the same house.” Okay, Dean likes her a _lot_.

“Thank you,” the brothers both say.

"Dean, your therapist will be Missouri. Sam, yours is Tessa. Both of you will be under the care of your house's psychiatrist, Dr. Crowley.

"There are four groups a day, two snack times, three free times with phone and smoke, two med times, and visiting and movie nights on Fridays and Saturdays. We try to give our residents enough time to relax; therapy can be quite taxing.” Layla stands up and gestures for them to follow. “I'll take you to your house, now. Your luggage will be checked and brought to you later.”

Sam and Dean follow her out of admissions and to the building labeled “2.” There's an electronic lock, which she slides over with a key card. "For the safety of our residents," she explains.

Once inside they walk through a large main room, which Layla tells them is the lounge. There are a few people sitting on some of the many couches; a few of them wave, but no one gets up to introduce themselves to the nervous, slightly tipsy man and his not-so-little little brother. Dean also notices a few dog toys scattered across the floor, and he knows that the fact that they have a dog probably just made Sam's week.

“Garth?” Layla asks. A scrawny guy with dirty blond hair jumps up from one of the couches excitedly to meet them.

“Aloha, friends!” He startles Dean by grabbing him and pulling him into a tight hug.

“Sam, Dean. This is Garth. He's a BHA; behavioral health administrator.”

Garth then pulls Sam into a hug and Dean laughs at the confused expression Sam gives.

“This is where I leave you two,” Layla says, once Sam is safely out of the BHA's clutches, and she shakes their hands in turn. Dean would have much preferred her being the overly touchy one. “It was a pleasure meeting you. I hope you both get the most out of your time here.” She doesn't escape before Garth ambushes her with a hug, too. She blushes and leaves Sam and Dean with the (possibly crazy?) man.

“Follow me, boys. We're gonna get you checked out by our lovely nurse.” Garth leads them toward the back of the building and down a hallway to a small seating area in front of an open door labeled 'Nurse.' “Pamela, I brought you the new residents.”

A woman peeks out of the doorway and Dean notices that she too is very pretty, and she's sure as hell 'checking them out.'

“Which one of you gentlemen is Sam?” His brother raises his hand. “Come on in, handsome.”

*

Sam is with Pamela for over an hour and when he walks out into the waiting room again, his face is about seven different shades of pink.

“You're not gonna like it,” he says and sits down as the nurse calls Dean in.

The room is small, with a classical doctor's office table to lie on, a computer, and a chair next to a vitals machine. There's also an attached bathroom.

“Sit your cute little ass into that chair, I'll take your blood pressure and heart rate.” Her hand lingers on his bicep when she straps the cuff on and Dean wonders if she's this flirty with everyone. Or if anyone's ever filed a sexual harassment case against her. Not that Dean minds, of course.

“Your blood pressure is a little high, but not too bad. Now I'm gonna ask you to strip.”

Dean thinks he knows why Sam left the room blushing.

“Don't worry, you get a robe. I'm just going to have to peek around a little. Check for any marks, injuries, tattoos, those sorts of things.”

“Um-okay. Sure." Fuck, he's usually much smoother with women. Especially women who want to see him naked.

Pamela hands him a robe and turns around while he removes his clothing. When he's ready, she grabs her clipboard and starts the examination. It's just about as awkward as Dean expected.

“Nice ink,” she says when she gets to his chest. Pamela doesn't comment on the dog tags he's never brought himself to take off, and for that he's relieved. She scratches down notes every once in a while, and Dean feels a lot like a lab animal being studied and observed.

“Okay, the hard part is almost over. Just get on the scale and you can get redressed."

Dean is a little reluctant to get on the scale; he used to be in much better shape, but years of high-calorie beverages and too many cheeseburgers have given him a few extra pounds, mostly around the stomach.

“Heh. I was much more fit in my younger years.”

Pamela winks at him as she jots down the number. “Honey, you're still a stud.” Dean's ego inflates a little at that, but he's still relieved when he gets to put his clothes back on.

Next, she hands him a urine sample cup and tells him she needs a drug test. That he's fine with, but he dreads what will probably come next.

Sure enough, once she gives him the all clear on the drug test, she hands him a breathalyzer and tells him to blow. He complies, and she shakes her head as writes down the result.

“I'm going to have to tell your therapist about this.”

Dean looks down, avoiding her sympathetic gaze. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize to me, sweetheart. You're here now and that's what counts. Now, let's get that medical history.”

The questioning takes the most amount of time, about forty minutes. Pamela asks him about his diet, family history, medications (none), drug and alcohol use, and even sexual history, asking if she should do any testing. Dean's always been one for safe sex, so he tells her no. He feels drained by the time the nurse pinches his cheek and sends him out into the waiting room, where Sam is fast asleep in his chair. There is a cute, smiling redhead in a Pikachu t-shirt sitting in the chair next to him, and Dean wonders idly if every woman who works here is attractive. The woman smiles when she sees him.

“Hi, I'm Charlie. I'm a BHA. You must be Dean.” She stands up and shakes his hand enthusiastically. “I was just talking to your brother.”

Dean looks incredulously at his unconscious younger brother. “Does he know about that?”

Charlie does a cute little giggle at that. “He was responsive at one point. Um...” She looks at Sam and then questioningly at Dean, who kicks his brother hard on the shin.

Sam jumps about three inches off of the chair and clutches his chest. “Jesus Christ, Dean.”

Dean laughs at his frightened expression and pulls him up until he's standing. “You couldn't even stay awake for this young lady? How do you think she feels?”

Sam looks at her apologetically. “Sorry, I wasn't bored or anything, I just–”

Charlie flips her hand at him. “No harm done. Do you guys wanna see your rooms?” She takes them through the nurse's hallway into the lounge, and then to another hallway to the right. They pass several bedrooms, which Dean looks into curiously, until they reach one on the left.

“Sam, this is your room.”

The bedroom has a wardrobe, a closet, a bathroom, and two twin beds, each with a bedside table with shelves and drawers. There's a twenty-something year-old guy in a faded hoodie sitting on the bed closest to the door with a book and papers spread out in front of him and a pencil behind his ear. He has headphones in and doesn't seem to notice them.

“This is your roommate, Andy.” When he doesn't look up, Charlie walks over to his bed and pulls out one of the ear buds. “Andy, this is your new roomie, Sam, and his brother, Dean.”

Andy smiles at them and Dean is glad his brother has a friendly roommate. “Hey.”

“I'll leave you and Sam together to get acquainted. Dean, you can follow me to your room.”

Charlie leads him through the lounge and into the opposite hallway, all the way down to the very last room. “Voila.” She gestures to the doorway Vanna White style.

Dean's room is set up the same way as Sam's, but instead of one guy sitting on the bed, there is one guy and three girls.

Dean can't see the females' faces because their backs are toward him, but he can see the guy, and _holy shit_ he's gorgeous. He's sitting in lotus position (which Dean only knows because of that yoga class Sam bribed him into going to to years ago that lead to a weekend-long tryst with the instructor), spouting off some weird shit about seeing with your third eye, and Dean realizes he must be a hippie or something. He's wearing a Pink Floyd t-shirt (nice) and a huge sweater that makes him look like he just hopped the border from Mexico. He has a white cast on his right arm and several beaded bracelets on his left. The man has a brown mop of messy hair, at least two day's worth of stubble, and the bluest eyes Dean has ever seen.

Yeah, Dean's fucked.

Charlie clears her throat, snapping Dean out of his internal monologue and stopping his roommate's new-agey speech. “Castiel, Dean. Dean, Castiel.”

Huh. Weird name.

“Hello,” Castiel says, flashing him a big grin. Dean can only nod his head in response, trying to remember how to work his mouth.

“Hate to interrupt, but can we borrow you?” Charlie asks, and yes, Dean would like to borrow him, take him home, and keep him.

“Of course. Sorry, ladies, duty calls.” And then he fucking _winks_ at Dean.

The girls get off of the bed and one with long, wavy dark hair gives Dean a full-body glance over, eying him like a lion would eye a zebra right before sinking its teeth in. They all leave without introducing themselves. Apparently not everyone here is friendly.

Castiel uncrosses his legs and hops off the bed and solutes Charlie. “Castiel Novak at your service. What can I do for you?”

“Dean and his brother need a tour,” Charlie tells him. “Think you can help them out?”

“Of course,” Castiel says again, and then he grabs the BHA's hand and kisses it. “Your highness.”

Charlie laughs and swats at him. “Be careful, Dean. This one'll charm the pants off of ya.”

God, Dean hopes so.

Charlie leaves them with a curtsy and Castiel throws his arms out, gesturing to the room. “Welcome to our humble abode.”

Dean takes his eyes off of the man and takes a minute to look at Castiel's area. He's clearly very messy; there are clothes strewn all over the floor and a pair of hideous bright orange fuzzy slippers next to his bed. His shelf is cluttered and Dean walks closer, looking at everything scattered on top of it. There are stacks of papers and tons of books: a few mythology ones, some cheap looking paperbacks, and a stack of embellished leather-bound tomes (Lewis Carol, the Iliad and Odyssey, Sherlock Holmes, Edgar Allen Poe, and H.P. Lovecraft). There's also an iPod and dock that Dean envies and a jade Buddha statue.

Castiel looks at his shelf proudly, but then he groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck. Bela took my watch. _Again_.”

“Does that happen often?”

“You have no idea. Staff checks her room daily, and if there's anything in there they haven't inventoried, it goes to the lost and found in the office."

Dean sighs. He doesn't have anything of value here, but he doesn't want anyone's sticky fingers messing with his stuff.

“I'll get it back,” Castiel says with a shrug. “Anyways, on with the tour.” He points to the wardrobe. “The right side is yours, but you can also use the closet. None of my stuff is in there.” Of course. It's all over the floor.

He opens a door on the wall opposite their beds. “This is the bathroom. For safety purposes and because we have people here with eating disorders, the bathrooms don't lock, so we make sure to always knock around here, comprende?”

“Got it.”

“Good. Your brother's in Andy's room?”

“Yeah.”

“That was my old room,” Castiel says, but he doesn't explain further.

They walk together into the lounge, but before they make it to Sam's hallway, a white dog that looks like it's more fluff than actual dog runs out, followed by his brother who's bounding after him like a fucking gazelle or something (and what's with his animal analogies today?).

Sam, in a surprising burst of energy that defies the heavy state of his withdrawal, drops to his knees and scratches the ball of fur behind its ears.

“This is Colt,” Castiel tells them. “He's a service dog, a rescue. And I'm assuming you're Sam?” Sam nods, and shakes his hand. “I'm Castiel. I'm going to be showing you around."

The dog follows them as Castiel takes them to the office first, where they see Garth through the window. “If you can't find a staff member out and about, check here. There's also a lost and found in there.” Castiel knocks on the door, and Garth swings it open. “Can we get some lanyards?”

“Sure thing.” The BHA hands Cas (Dean guesses his brain got too lazy for the two extra syllables) three red lanyards. “If you want to leave the house without a staff member you need to come get one of these.”

Castiel hands one to Sam, puts one around his own neck, and then gets right into Dean's personal space, sliding the lanyard over his head and grazing his fingers over the back of his neck.

Was that a move? Dean hopes that was a move. He'll store that thought up for later.

Castiel shows them the kitchen next. “There's coffee in here in the mornings and two snack times, but we eat our meals in the cafeteria, which is also where visiting hours are held.”

Then he takes them to the phone room, a group room with a huge circle of comfy looking couches, the decked-out rec room that Dean knows he will spend a lot of time in (there's a flat-screen television hooked up to multiple gaming consoles, fluffy couches and a bean bag chair, and floor to ceiling stacks of board games), the laundry room, the smoke deck (Castiel tells them he's trying to quit), then back through the lounge again and to the front door. He whistles for Colt, who runs up to him and obediently sits down so he can clip a leash to his collar.

They walk together past house one and to a much larger building, where Castiel shows them the cafeteria, yoga studio, and art room, which is filled from floor to ceiling with paintings and mosaics and sketches and dangling trinkets. It's a really awesome room, and Dean can appreciate good art, so he's a little disappointed when the tour ends and they go back to their own building and turn in their lanyards.

“Okay,” Castiel claps his hands together. “Time to meet everyone. Don't be shy, no one bites. Well, except Eve.” He laughs at his joke and points to one of the couches. Andy is sitting crouched over a notebook with a blonde girl with highlights and bearded man, who Castiel tells them is Chuck.

“It's _Carver_ ,” the man says crankily. “I don't know why everyone keeps calling me Chuck.”

Chuck (Carver?) barely gives them a glance, too immersed in the notebook, but the girl gets this doe-eyed look when she sees Sam and introduces herself as Becky.

When they're out of earshot of those on the couch Castiel whispers to them, “Chuck has dissociative identity disorder. He's a bit of a skittish guy, with OCD and agoraphobia, but his alter is an author, Carver Edlund. He's much more confident than the original personality and he's an alcoholic. A bit of an asshole, if I do say so myself.”

In the rec room they meet Max, who's playing Mario Kart, and Lily, who's reading. Eve, the alleged biter, is painting her nails and rudely ignores them. A girl named Ava is crocheting a blanket.

“Almost everyone around here crochets,” Castiel explains. “It's a good coping skill, yada yada. I actually want to learn, myself.”

Lastly, Cas introduces them to Bela and Meg, who are in their room. Meg, the one who looked like she was going to climb Dean like a tree earlier, is curling Bela's hair.

“Meg here is our resident slut,” Castiel teases. Judging by the look she's giving all three of them, Dean isn't sure that description is too far off.

“That actually goes to you, Clarence.” Clarence?

“I second that,” Bela says, and Dean is surprised to hear a British accent.

“You, my friend,” Castiel points at her accusingly, “are going to give me my watch back.”

Bela rolls her eyes so hard Dean is sure she made herself dizzy. “Fine. But only if you ask nicely."

“ _Bela_.”

“Okay, okay,” she sighs, and Meg puts down the curling iron so she can go to her drawer and get it. She smacks the watch into Castiel's open hand far harder than necessary.

“Thank you.”

“Fuck you,” Bela says, but there's not a lot of bite behind it.

“Hey!” comes a voice from the doorway, and Dean sees Garth peering in. “Let's all just get along. How about we hug it out?” That seems to be the answer to everything with him.

Bela rolls her eyes again but drapes herself over Castiel, reaching around and grabbing his ass. Dean wonders about the complete nature of their relationship.

“Not exactly what I had in mind,” Garth says, looking more than a little uncomfortable, “but it'll do. I know it's free time, but I'm holding an impromptu group so ya'll can get to know each other. Group room in five minutes.”

After the others are a good distance away Dean elbows his brother. “Check out the girls here, am I right? It looks like they all came off of a fricken' runway.”

Sam gives Dean his trademark bitchface. “You are _not_ here to hook up. Try to keep it in your pants for once.”

As if. “Whatever you say, little brother.”

*

“Okay, I'm told you've all been introduced already, but this is a big group of people to keep up with, so how about we start with our names and what brings you here to Riverside. We'll go in a circle. Dean, would you like to go first?"

Dean's pulse speeds up. It's bad enough having to talk to a therapist about his problems, but talking about them in front of a whole group? Not exactly his cup of tea. Or glass of whiskey. Whatever. He pauses for a few moments before Sam clears his throat and Dean decides to suck it up and take it like a man, despite the fact that he feels like the exact opposite.

“Uh, hi. I'm Dean.” He messes with the hem of his over-shirt; anything to distract himself from the twelve sets of eyes staring at him expectantly. “I'm, um, I have a bit of a drinking problem.”

“Hello, Dean,” the room echoes, just like every cliché fictional AA meeting he's ever seen.

Sam pats him on the arm and takes the spotlight away from him. “I'm Sam, and I have a drug addiction.”

Despite how stupid it feels, Dean joins in the replying “Hello, Sam.”

It's Cas' turn next. “I'm Castiel, and I love heroin.” Dean nearly laughs in response to the bluntness of it. Castiel must notice, because he gives him this little self-satisfied smirk.

Everyone gives their, “Hello, Castiel,” with the exception of Meg, who once again calls him “Clarence.”

Dean listens to the rest of the residents with a rapt curiosity. Ava has depression and an eating disorder, Bela is addicted to coke. Chuck, or Carver, tells them he's an alcoholic. Max has depression, Lily is an alcoholic, and Meg tells them she's addicted to “fucking and drugs.” (Her brashness is not nearly as endearing as Castiel's.) Eve is a drug user, and Andy has a drug and alcohol problem.

When it's all over, Dean lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. That wasn't _too_ bad. Except by the end of group he's completely sober, which brings about a whole new wave of anxiety.

What the hell has he gotten himself into?

*

“Medium well please, sugar.”

Ellen glares up at Dean from behind the glass sneeze-guard of the food line. “Don't you get started with me young man,” she snaps, but she smiles at him as she puts a burger on his plate with many more fries than she gave the guy in front of him. “I'm really glad you're here. About damn time, too.” She looks behind Dean to his brother. “You too, of course, Sam.”

Sam, since he's a fucking rabbit, gets a side salad instead of fries. The guy who's serving it is wearing a beat-up denim vest and sporting a mullet. He looks up at them and smiles.

“Well lookie here, fresh meat.”

“This here is Ash,” Ellen introduces.

“Like the Pokemon trainer,” Ash says, and _good God_ Dean is surrounded by nerds.

“Ash, this is Dean, and his brother Sam.”

“Nice to meet you, hombres.”

Their greetings are brief, cut short when Ellen shoos them away to serve the next resident.

Despite Sam's health-freak tendencies he still gets himself two mugs of coffee at the drink station. Castiel is there with two cups as well, and he's pouring a generous amount of soy milk into one.

“Caffeine junkie?” Dean asks, grabbing his own mug as Cas pours two Splenda into the black coffee. He jumps, dropping one of the wrappers into the beverage.

“Shit!" he yells, and Dean feels bad for scaring him. "I'm sorry, what did you say?”

“You seem to really love your coffee.” He adds one sugar to his own drink, then uses a stirrer to scoop out the Splenda packet from Castiel's.

“Thank you. And no. Well, yes I do love it, but one of these is for Charlie. She forgets to get hers, sometimes.”

“That's really nice of you, Cas.”

“Yes, well, she has been exceptionally kind to me these past three weeks. Might as well return just a tiny bit of the favor. I wish there was something more I could do, honestly.”

Dean follows him to the dining area to one of the round tables (there are two of them, as well as several booths), where Charlie is sitting with Andy and Sam. She beams up at Castiel when he sets down the black coffee in front of her.

“You're a lifesaver, thank you.”

“Anything for you, your highness.” Cas smiles and sits down next to her, gesturing to the empty seat on his left for Dean to sit down.

“So, you know the lunch lady?” Castiel peers at him over the lip of his coffee mug with those enormous blue eyes, and Dean almost forgets the question.

“Ellen, yeah. We've known her since Sammy was still in diapers. Her and Bobby, they were practically our parents.” It's more than Dean intended to share, but thankfully Cas doesn't ask about his actual parents. He just nods and stabs at his food, which is some sort of rice bowl with whitish square cubes on top. Dean's not sure what it is, but he soon forgets about it when he sinks his teeth into his juicy, hot, perfectly seasoned burger. His eyelids flutter closed and he lets out a load moan that he won't deny is pretty pornographic.

“Do you and your burger need a minute alone?” Dean opens his eyes and takes another heavenly bite, taking in Castiel's raised eyebrows.

“Dude, you're totally missing out.”

“Dude, you're totally disgusting,” Sam complains. “Don't talk with your mouth full."

Dean decides to take the mature route and sticks his tongue out, partially chewed food not excluded.

“Gross,” Sam says, and he actually _flips his hair_ and turns to talk to Andy.

“Actually, I'm a vegetarian,” Castiel tells him, poking at what Dean now realizes must be tofu. Gross.

“Seriously? Why?” He can't imagine why anyone would willingly give up meat.

“I really care about animals.” Castiel pops a piece of spongy looking faux-meat and Dean nearly cringes.

Dean actually chooses to swallow before speaking. “But, like, they're already dead by the time they get to your plate.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam hisses.

Okay, that might have been a little rude. “Sorry. I'm just curious.”

Castiel sighs and takes a sip of his coffee. “Would you eat a puppy, if it was already dead before it got to your plate?” Well, shit. Dean suddenly doesn't feel so hungry. He lets his silence answer the question.

“Veggie-eaters for life!” Charlie shouts holding her fist out for Cas to bump. He just stares at it and tilts his head. “Never mind.”

Dean laughs and thinks to himself that he lucked out and got a pretty good roommate, weird hippie ways of life and all.

*

“Are you coming to yoga?”

Dean looks up from his luggage, which arrived sometime during dinner. Castiel is stretching his arms up over his head, showing a sliver of skin between his t-shirt and sweatpants that Dean tries not to be enamored by.

“Yoga's not really my thing,” Dean explains, although his is quite tempted to see how bendy Cas is. Plus, if the yoga instructor follows the high standard rule of women currently employed at this place, she's probably really hot.

“Oh,” Castiel shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He watches Dean slide photos behind the ribbons of the picture board hanging above his bed. It's a nice little addition to their rooms. Dean notices that Castiel has a few photos himself, and a child's colored picture, but he can't make out any details from where he's standing.

“Is that your girlfriend?” Cas inclines his head toward one of the pictures and _woah_ , when did he get so close?

“Nah, that's Ellen's daughter, Jo. She's like a bratty little sister to me.”

“I see.” And then Castiel is out of his personal space bubble, leaving behind a faint smell of cigarettes and vanilla. He's out the door without another word (strange) and then Charlie is walking in.

“Missouri, your therapist, wants to see you.”

Fuck. “Ugh. Do I have to?” He instantly regrets his whiny tone.

Charlie strides across the room and literally drags him out into the hallway. “Yes. Nut up, Winchester. She's not that bad.”

She walks with him down into the hallway that houses the nurse's office, probably to make sure he doesn't bolt, and brings him to an office where she introduces Dean to the therapist before flitting away to do whatever it is that Charlie does when she's not throwing people into the metaphorical lion's den.

Missouri, as it turns out, is the weirdest combination of both scary and precious. She has this adorable little voice but a 'don't fuck with me' attitude. Her office walls are covered with degrees, awards, and oddly, a large assortment of wooden spoons, which she threatens to smack him with if he doesn't cooperate.

And he doesn't. Cooperate, that is. She spends ten minutes asking him literally headache-inducing questions, all of which he refuses to answer, because he'd rather gouge is eyes out with one of her threatening spoons than talk about his feelings. He tells her this, and she puts her pen and clipboard down with a frown.

“As much as I'd love to beat some sense into you, boy, it's not my job to force you to talk.”

“Good,” Dean says, and walks right out the door.

*

Dean only gets about fifteen minutes of alone time with his building headache before Garth is in his room, looking annoyingly chipper.

“Dr. Crowley would like to see you.”

Dean throws an arm over his face dramatically. “Of-fucking-course. Sorry," he adds, because it's really not fair to be a dick to the messenger.

Garth doesn't seem offended as takes Dean back down the same hallway he's starting to despise. They run into Sam there, who's coming out of one of the offices and looking completely exhausted. Dean isn't sure if it's from the withdrawal or a tiring session, or both.

“Don't go too far,” Garth says. “Dr. Crowley will see you next.”

Sam sighs and sinks into the same chair he fell asleep in earlier. Dean fully expects a repeat performance.

Garth ushers him into Dr. Crowley's office, where he meets the arrogant, smarmy, British man, and seriously, why can't these people stay in their own damn country? Their conversation is brief, only lasting a few minutes, and at the end of it Dean finds himself with a prescription for not one, not even two, but _three_ different medications. He gets Prozac for his supposed depression, Neurontin as needed for the anxiety that comes whenever he stops drinking, and Trazadone, for when he can't sleep do to separation from his good friend Jack. He leaves the office with an even bigger headache and sees that his brother is, sure enough, passed out.

Dean plays the role of nice big brother this time and gently shakes him awake.

“Your turn. He's a major douchebag, by the way."

“Joy,” Sam deadpans. He drags his feet across the carpet and straight into Missouri's office. He stumbles out moments later, apologizing and shutting the door quickly.

“Not a word.”

*

It's not too long after his appointment with Dr. Crowley that Dean starts feeling _really_ shitty. His hands are sweaty and shaking, his headache has thrown itself into a full-on migraine, and he feels like he's moments away from vomiting. He flinches when the bedroom lights turn on.

“G'way.” Dean is sure that what he meant to say was 'Go away' but he really can't be bothered to care right now.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” It's Castiel, thank God, and not a BHA coming to take him to another stupid appointment.

“It's fine, Cas. Sorry.” Dean's been waiting for him to argue that his name is _Castiel_ , not Cas, like Sam does when Dean calls him 'Sammy,' but so far he gets no trouble for it.

Castiel just reaches down and touches his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“I feel like shit,” is Dean's honest answer.

The bed tips as Cas sits down next to him, his hand still on Dean's shoulder. It's nice. Comforting. “I would kill for a drink right now.”

“I can arrange that.”

Dean squints at him, expecting a punchline, a 'psych!', but it never comes. Instead, Castiel stands up and grabs a pack of cigarettes out of his shelf and something else out of the drawer.

“What would you like?”

Dean just stares at him, gaping like a fish out of water. Castiel continues as though Dean isn't acting like a complete idiot. “I suggest gin. It's the least detectable on the breath.”

At that Dean realizes he's completely serious. “Uh, yeah, sure. Awesome. Thanks, man.”

“I can't get it to you now, you'll have to wait until tomorrow, sorry.”

"It's fine, don't worry about it."

Dean has absolutely no idea how the hell Castiel is going to get gin into a rehab center, but he imagines it involves lots of stealth and cloaks and code words.

“I'll need your water bottle. You can use mine, too.” Castiel grabs the bottles and walks out of the room before Dean can thank him again.

*

Dean skips wrap-up group but wanders out for meds, not sure where exactly he's going until he sees a long line of residents standing in Sam's hallway. There's a window that he didn't notice before and Pamela stands on the other side, handing out little plastic cups of pills and foam cups of water. Castiel is at the front of the line, and Dean overhears him getting Trazadone and Seroquel, the latter of which he's never heard of. Cas also takes off his sweater and pulls off a patch, handing it to Pamela.

Dean gets in line behind Sam, who's leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. “So, what'd you get?”

Sam looks down at the prescription slip in his hand. “Prozac, you?”

“I got Prozac, too. And Neurontin for anxiety, and a sleeping pill, Trazadone.”

“Pam says I won't have any trouble sleeping over the next few weeks.”

“No kidding,” Dean says as his brother rests his head against the wall.

When Sam gets to the front of the line Pamela takes the paper and tells him that Prozac is given in the morning and to come back then. He sighs, dropping his shoulders and wishing her a goodnight, and walks slowly to his room.

"Make sure you go to the right room!" Dean teases, earning himself a raised middle finger.

“What can I do for you, Dean?” Pamela asks, smiling and leaning on the window.

Dean hands her the note, looking around self-consciously to see who else can see that he's messed-up enough to need to be medicated.

“Well, like I told your brother, Prozac is in the morning.” Dean glances behind himself again, but no one seems to be paying him any attention. “But I can give you the Trazadone. And would you like the Neurontin?”

Wait. No. Dean Winchester does _not_ need pills. He may need his brother, and his music, and his car, but he sure as hell doesn't need medication just because some self-absorbed asshole tells him he does.

“Actually, Pamela, I think I'm gonna pass.”

“Okay, sweetheart, have a good night.” Dean starts to walk away, before the nurse adds, “And Dean, call me Pam.”

*

By 3:18 a.m. Dean is really regretting turning down that Trazadone.

He paces around the rec room, occasionally glancing at the Animal Planet special on pandas that he put on in hopes that it would bore him to sleep. It didn't, obviously. He hates to admit but he's actually kind of into it now.

“You're going to wear a hole in that carpet.” Dean nearly jumps out of his skin. He didn't notice Castiel not only come in, but actually sit down on the couch not even three feet from where Dean was walking.

“Sorry,” Cas says, and he really does look sincere. “I thought you might like some company. Although, I have seen this special before.” He looks down and knots his fingers together. “The panda's baby dies.”

Dean feels his heart sink. He actually found himself getting rather attached to the little guys. “Way to be the bearer of bad news, Cas.”

“I'm sorry. I just wanted to prepare you. So, trouble sleeping?”

“Yeah. Usually I drink or listen to music, or both, but I can't do either right now.”

Castiel looks at him and smiles. “Sure you can, I have an iPod. We can listen together.” He turns off the television, which Dean thinks is just fine because listening to music, even if it's not his taste, definitely trumps baby animals meeting a grim end. Castiel links his arm through Dean's and walks them back to their room.

He lets Dean sift through his iPod. He has a lot of classic rock; AC/DC, Metallica, Led Zeppelin, all of which Dean strongly approves of. He also has some weird music, like Celtic folk, and some complete chick music, like Beyonce. Cas also has some artists he's never heard of, like The Wombats and Bright Eyes.

They listen to mostly the classic rock, which Castiel tells him his mother calls 'the Devil's music.' And, despite his hesitance, Dean eventually finds himself lulled into somewhat of a trance when Cas puts on the Celtic folk music.

Finally drifting off, Dean tells his roommate about driving for hours on end in his car, his baby, with nothing more than his cassette tapes.

Despite his anxiety and killer headache, Dean falls asleep with a smile on his face.


	4. Chapter 4

Thursday November 13th 

It's about ass-o'clock in the morning when Sam barges into Dean's room like he owns the place. He's dressed in his workout clothes and swaying on his feet, squinting at his older brother in the darkness.

“What 'd'ya want?” It's way too early for what he's assuming Sam is going to ask of him.

“I'm going running, would you like to come?”

Dean looks at his clock. “Dude, A: it's 5:30 in the morning, and two: you look like you're about to keel over.”

Sam scoffs at him. _“A_ : I always run in the mornings. And _two_ ,” he bites out sarcastically, “I'm hoping it will help me wake up.”

“I'll go with you.” Castiel sits up, rubbing at his eyes blearily.

“Great job, Sam, you woke him up.”

“I don't mind,” Cas says, yawning a bit unconvincingly. “I'll go. We can take Colt.”

Sam gives a Cheshire-cat grin at the guy who's probably just become his new best friend. “Awesome, we're meeting in the lounge in five minutes.” Sam practically flounces out of the room, his too-long hair flowing behind him.

Castiel gets up and starts making his bed, which is surprising given the messy state of the floor. And that's when a pair of red lace panties falls out and unto said floor.

Dean snorts as Cas picks them up and examines them. “Those yours?

“Ha ha,” he says flatly. “I think they're Bela's.” Well, there's the answer to Dean's question of whether or not they're fooling around. “Or maybe they're Eve's.”

Jesus Christ. Dean shouldn't be so shocked, though. Meg did say he was the resident slut.

“How many people are you sleeping with?” Dean says 'people' instead of 'girls,' because maybe Cas swings in his direction. He _hopes_ Cas swings in his direction.

“Uh.” Castiel thinks for a few seconds, scratching his head. “Four girls. Sometimes more than one at a time.”

Dean feels a little stab of disappointment. Aside from a wink and a serious disregard for personal space, all evidence points to Cas being straight. He doesn't ask who the ladies are, but he's really fucking curious. Detective Dean will have to do some snooping later.

“I should return these,” Castiel says, and Dean is relieved that he's not one of those perverts who hoards the underwear of his conquests. That would have lost him major potential-future-lover points.

“Alright, see you later,” Dean calls as Cas walks out of the room without another word.

He sure does suck at goodbyes.

*

Dean tries to go back to sleep after his rude-ass awakening by his sometimes obnoxious little brother, but he can't, so he decides to take a nice, hot shower, hoping it will ebb away his growing headache and the anxious tightness in his chest. He takes his time, smelling all of Castiel's vanilla, organic, paraben-free (whatever the hell that means) shower products. Dean doesn't consider vanilla the most masculine scent, but it smells good just the same, and it fits the odd mold Cas has carved for himself.

By the time Dean is finished and into his favorite plaid shirt Castiel is back, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. He picks up a wrinkled t-shirt off of the floor, smells it, then puts it back (the room does have two hampers which Castiel ignores). He grabs another one, this one apparently cleaner, and heads toward the bathroom. But then he stops and looks at Dean.

“Did you serve?”

"What?" Dean looks down at his chest, where he forgot to tuck his dog tags in. “Uh, no.” He hides them under his flannel and Cas drops the topic, thankfully. Dean is definitely not ready to go there, especially not with someone he hasn't even known for twenty-four hours. Hell, he won't even go there with Sam, who he's known for _twenty-two years_. That's one painful wound he's not sure he'll ever be ready to re-open.

*

Dean skips breakfast, stomach churning at the mere thought of food. Instead, he plays his guitar along to some songs on Castiel's iPod, writing the chords down in his notebook. He's practicing “Smoke on the Water” when Cas comes back, setting a mug of coffee on his shelf.

“Black with one sugar, right?”

Dean grabs the drink and takes a sip, and yes, Castiel made it perfectly. “You remembered.”

Cas beams at him proudly.

Dean takes another sip, letting his eyes close, taking in the taste of liquid paradise.

“It's med time,” Castiel tells him.

After his decision to not take his sleeping pill turned out to be a terrible one, Dean figures he might want to start giving the medication a shot. Pam is not in the med window; in her place is a mean-looking gray-haired woman. Dean turns to walk away, cause fuck that, but he runs into six-foot-four of his giraffe of a brother. Sam spins him around and pushes him into the line behind Cas.

“There's nothing to be ashamed of,” his roommate says, as if he could read his mind.

“Uh, thanks, Cas.” If only Dean could believe it. He grew up with the ideals that everything could be solved with sex and booze, not therapy and meds. He's way out of his element here.

Dean tries not to listen to everyone's prescriptions, but this lady is much louder than Pam was. It seems like every resident is on Prozac and he wonders if that's just the blanket drug that Dr. Crowley assigns to all his patients. Castiel is different, though, getting Zoloft and a medicine called Nexiclon. Dean wants to ask what it's for, but it's really none of his business. He's not a _complete_ neanderthal when it comes to manners, despite what Sam might say.

When it's Dean's turn, the nurse looks at him like he's gum stuck to her shoe. “Name?” she drones.

“Dean Winchester.”

The nurse hands him a little plastic cup and some water.

“Can I, uh, get a Neurontin, too?”

She looks into a binder and flips through it slowly as Dean tips back the pills. “How would you rate your anxiety on a scale of one to ten?”

“Um, probably like a six?” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. He's not usually an a anxious person. Then again, he's not usually a sober person.

“Then you don't need it. Use some coping skills and come back if it gets worse. Next.”

Dean wants to tell her that just talking to her caused his rating to sky-rocket, but he really just wants to get the hell out of Dodge.

He waits for Sam and they go to the group room together, where a young brunette woman sits at the front, by the fireplace. She's very pretty, because apparently that's a job requirement at this place. Her name is Sarah, and she smiles warmly at everyone as they start to trickle in. When everyone is seated on the plush couches, she explains how the group, family dynamics, works. It is, true to its name, a group that involves talking about their families.

“Now, who would like to share?”

One of the guys, Dean thinks his name is Max, raises his hand.

The group turns out to be really fucking depressing. Max talks about his physically abusive stepfather and his mother who stood by and watched him get beaten day after day. He talks about how he ended up here, after a suicide attempt, which finally pushed his mother to leave the man. He and his mother have a broken relationship now, but they're trying to work through it in therapy.

“That was very brave of you to share, Max. Thank you.” Everyone in the room echoes Sarah's appreciation. “Who would like to go next?”

Sam raises his hand and Dean's chest tightens, a lump forming in this throat. He immediately considers going back to the rude nurse. “Sam, _no_.”

His brother sighs. “We're here to heal, Dean. That involves facing our problems and talking about them.”

“It's none of their fucking business,” Dean snaps. He knows he's being a dick, but he _really_ doesn't want their fucked-up history spread out raw for everyone to see.

“I know this is difficult, Dean,” Sarah says gently. “But this is a safe lace. We're all here to support you.”

“I'm sorry, miss, but I don't need your support.” In an act that feels like it's becoming a habit, he leaves the room and all related emotions behind.

*

The little incident in the group room ratchets his anxiety up to about a nine. When he tells that to the nurse, she asks him if he used any coping skills.

Coping skills, coping skills. “Uh.” Dean's been using that word way too often recently. “Yeah. I did some deep breathing.” It's a lie, but she finds it acceptable. He hands her the cups after he tips the Neurontin into his mouth and turns around to find Castiel, no more than three inches away from him. He chokes on his pill.

Cas claps him on the back a few times, and Dean manages to swallow it, though it burns his throat the whole way down. Castiel looks concerned but doesn't apologize. He does, however, ask if Dean is alright.

“I'm fine,” Dean tells him, lying for the second time in under a minute.

“Come to our room, we can talk."

They walk to their room in companionable silence. Once their inside, Castiel closes the door behind them.

“No offense,” Dean says, “but I'd rather not talk about my family.”

Castiel shrugs. “That's okay, we can listen to music, if you'd like.”

Dean breathes in a shaky breath, thankful that he was lucky enough to get such an awesome roommate who doesn't smother him with feelings-talk like Sam does. “Okay, thanks.”

Of course, that's about when Dean's luck times out. Castiel puts on the Beatles.

“Can we listen to something else?” He hopes he doesn't sound rude, but his mother is the last person he wants to be thinking about right now.

“Of course,” Cas acquiesces, changing the music to Blue Oyster Cult instead. Much better. Castiel climbs into his bed and pulls no less than three crocheted blankets over himself. With that, on top of wearing a warm-looking sweater, Dean isn't sure how the guy isn't having a heat stroke right now.

They sit together for a few minutes, just listening to the music, before Dean asks, “So what about your family? If you don't mind talking about them.”

“No, I don't mind. Come here.” Dean gets up and sits on the bed next to him.

“My family is very religious. My siblings and I are all named after angels.”

“Yeah, I was wondering about the name. There's no Lucifer, is there?”

Castiel chuckles at that. “No, no Lucifer. My oldest brother is Michael. He's a heart surgeon. My mother's pride and joy,” he says mockingly. There's clearly some tension (maybe jealousy?) between the brothers. “Then there's Gabriel. He was kicked out of the Garrison when he came out as being bisexual.”

“The Garrison?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “It's the religious community my family and I live in. It used to be a camp site, Camp Chitaqua.”

“That sounds to me like a cult.”

Castiel snorts at that. “Basically.”

There's another question that Dean really wants to know the answer to. “Do you agree? With what they did to your brother?”

“Oh, no, of course not.” Dean breathes a sigh of relief at that. He's not sure how he would deal with Cas if he was some sort of homophobe. “I think it was horrible. But he wanted to leave, anyways. Why not bang a few gongs while he's at it?

“So, that's Gabriel. Next, there's Anael. We call her Anna. She's a pediatrician, and pregnant out of wedlock.”

“What does your family think about that?”

“They thought about throwing her out, too,” Castiel says sadly, “but they decided that a new life is sacred and would be good for the community. She is frowned upon by most people, though. Also something I don't agree with.”

“Wow.” That's all Dean can really say. He can't imagine growing up with those 'values' shoved down his throat. He's surprised Cas turned out the way he did, open-minded and accepting.

“And finally there's my younger brother, Inias. He's lived with me since he was three. Us siblings practically raised each other. My mother works a lot.”

Castiel points to a picture on his board. It's a photo of him standing next to a shorter man and a pretty redhead. “That's Anna and Gabriel.” He points next to the only other photo he has. “That's Inias, when he was six. He's nine now. And that's my cat, Perseus.”

That name sounds familiar. Oh, Clash of the Titans. “You sure do love mythology, don't you?”

“Yes, I think it's fascinating. My mother finds it very concerning. She tells me I'm a heathen,” Castiel says with a mirthless laugh. “She even renamed my cat Bartholomew.”

“Wow,” Dean says again. What a horrible name for a cat.

“Yeah. He hates her. Understandably.” Cas looks at his clock. “Oh, smoke break. Also, there's snack if you want something.”

Castiel grabs his cigarettes and Dean heads to the kitchen where Sam is sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and an apple. He's talking to Ash, the mullet-guy from the cafeteria.

“Ellen told me you two know her.”

Dean nods as he grabs a box of saltine crackers from the cabinet, intent on trying to calm his stomach. “Yeah, since I was a kid.”

“Right on,” Ash says, pumping his fist into the air and popping a Goldfish into his mouth. “She's a really cool chick.”

Dean laughs, guessing that anyone would get an earful and possible an ass-kicking from Ellen if she ever heard them call her a 'chick.' He munches on his crackers until Castiel comes in and grabs a banana.

Sam looks pointedly at his brother. “You could learn a few tips from him, Dean.”

“Can it, Sam.” Dean puts the rest of the saltines back in the box and puts them away.

He almost makes it out before Sam calls after him. “Speaking of healthy eating, you're coming to nutrition, right?”

“Yeah yeah, I'll be there.”

*

Nutrition is lead by Sarah. She talks about eating too much red meat and the possibility of clogged arteries. Red meat happens to be about sixty percent of Dean's diet and the conversation makes him feel nauseous at the thought of eating it right now.

By lunch time the anxiety pill has started to kick in, but his stomach is still churning so he goes to the kitchen instead for more crackers. He manages to force down about seven before he gives up and goes to bed.

*

An hour into his nap, Dean is shaken awake. He expects to see Sam, coming in to bug him about going to aftercare planning, but it's Castiel, sitting next to him wearing a huge grin and holding their two water bottles.

“Oh, thank God. Where did you get this?”

“Meg,” Castiel tells him.

Dean reaches into his drawer and pulls out his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing. Meg and I have a... well, we have an arrangement.”

Dean doesn't ask what the arrangement is, but he has an uneasy feeling that it involves indulging in her sex addiction. So that's Eve, Bela, and Meg. So who's girl number four? Dean doesn't know if he even wants the answer to that. He pushes those thoughts away and focuses on the burn of the gin traveling down his throat. It does nothing for his upset stomach, but after a few minutes he feels his headache fading away just a little bit.

Castiel leaves to go to group and Dean drinks. And drinks. He's made it all the way to drunk by the time Cas comes back into the room to grab a cigarette. He sticks it behind his ear and walks toward the door.

Castiel stops when Dean says, “You sure smoke a lot of someone who's trying to quit.” Dean knows it's kind of an asshole thing to say, it's really not his business, but his tongue is loose and he really doesn't like the idea of Cas getting lung cancer or something. Castiel doesn't seem offended, just points to him and tells him he sure drinks a lot for someone trying to quit.

Dean thinks about that for a few seconds. Is he trying to quit? He doesn't respond.

“That's what I thought,” Cas says, and he turns around and walks out of the room.

After Dean was kind of a dick to his roommate, he feels like being especially nice and goes to check on his brother. He's not in the lounge, or the group room, or the rec room, or the kitchen, so Dean heads to his bedroom, trying his best to walk straight. He doesn't think he succeeds.

Dean bursts into the room and flicks on the lights. Sam groans and covers his face with a pillow. “What the hell, Dean?”

“Rise and shine, Sammykins.” Dean collapses on the bed next to him.

Sam does not look amused. “Again, what the hell, Dean?”

Dean pulls the pillow away from his face and Sam squints at him, trying to adjust to the light. “Can't a guy check on his sleepy baby brother?” He plants a sloppy kiss on Sam's cheek.

“Dean, are you–are you _drunk_?”

Damn it. Caught. He really should have known better.

“Not muchly drunk.”

Sam's expression is dripping with disappointment. “Nice, Dean. Real typical. Just like dad.”

Dean recoils like he's been slapped. That was a fucking low blow if he's ever heard one. “That's not true.”

Sam shoves him off of the bed and Dean lands very ungraciously on the floor. “Really? I'm here, trying to get through _withdrawal_ and still go to all my groups and sessions, and you're fucking _drunk_.”

Dean is struck by an enormous wall of guilt, and a heap of misplaced anger toward his brother, who really just used their _dad_ against him. “Fine. You know what? _Fine_. As of now, I'm drying up.”

Sam looks less than impressed. “Good. Now get out. Don't talk to me until you're sober.”

Dean obliges, tripping on a squeaky dog toy on his way through the lounge. All in all it's not too bad of a walk of shame, considering his current state of inebriation. Castiel is in their room, sitting on his bed in the lotus position again, with his eyes closed and his fingers running over a string of beads. He opens his eyes when Dean closes the door.

“I'm done. I'm done drinking.” Dean hands Castiel the bottles. “You can have it.”

Cas tilts his head at him in a way that reminds him of an adorable baby bird. “I wouldn't drink these in front of you. That would be terribly cruel.” He hands Dean one of the bottles back. “Come on, we'll pour them out together.”

They each empty one bottle into the sink as Dean stares wistfully at the liquid, watching it swirl down the drain. He's never found himself feeling so mocked by a beverage before now.

“Cas, can you do me a favor?”

“Of course, Dean. Anything.”

“Don't let me drink any more. Even if I beg you, don't give me any, okay?”

Cas smiles at him. “Deal.”

*

Dean goes to dinner, only for the coffee, trying to sober up over three mugs. Sam doesn't sit with him, which he tries not to take personally, but yeah, it's pretty fucking personal.

The residents at their table play some sort of word game, but Dean is too intoxicated to follow the complex system of rules. All he knows is that Castiel and Chuck, wait, _Carver_ are great at it, coming up with words Dean can't even begin to guess the meaning of.

Ellen stops at his table near the end of dinner. “Why haven't you eaten since yesterday night?” Trust Ellen to pull out her maternal instincts and use them as needed.

“Not hungry,” Dean tells her.

She tsks at him and tilts her head toward Sam, who is sitting at one of the booths with Ava and Lily. “And why isn't your brother sitting with you?”

“Because I'm an asshole.” And it's the goddamn truth.

Ellen smacks him upside the head and tells him to fix things with Sam because he's the only family Dean has left. He opens his mouth to tell her that her and Bobby are family, too, but she walks away before his sluggish tongue can form the words.

"She really cares about you,” Castiel says. “Your brother, too. He'll forgive you.”

Dean shakes his head and takes a sip of coffee. “I wouldn't be so sure.”

“Well I have faith.”

And then Cas says something that makes him jerk his head up in surprise and nearly spit out his coffee.

“ _What_?”

“I said, would you like a kiss?”

“Uh–I–” Yes. Hell yes. But wait. _What_?

Castiel smirks at him and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a Hershey's Kiss.

“Oh.” Dean rubs the back of his neck, feeling extremely awkward. “I'll take a rain check. Thanks.”

Castiel shrugs and peels the foil away, tossing the chocolate into the air and catching it with his mouth. “My brother, Gabriel, he owns a candy shop. He's always bringing me sweets. I try to eat healthy, so I usually give them all away, but I can't resist a good Kiss.” Smug bastard.

Dean starts on his third mug of coffee. “So what do you do? Do you work?”

“Yes, I work in a tea shop.” That's not surprising. “I also sell my art there. Do you have a job?”

“I'm a mechanic. I work for the guy I was telling you about yesterday, Bobby.” His work, _that_ is something he's never had a problem talking about.

“It must be nice working for someone you're so close to. My boss and and I don't exactly get along.”

“Why is that?” Dean can't imagine anyone not getting along with Castiel.

“Well, the first week I was there, I may have slept with her daughter.”

Also, not surprising. “Well, that'll do it.”

*

Sam corners Dean in the phone room later, towering over him like a monument of accusation. “You didn't go to A.A.”

Dean crosses his arms across his chest. “Yeah, and?” Okay, not exactly the best way to talk to someone whose forgiveness he finds himself desperate for.

Sam gives him a bitchface to end all bitchfaces, scoffs at him, and stomps away with his enormous elephant feet, leaving him alone in the phone room.

Dean drags a hand down his face and sits down in front of a phone. He knows Bobby's number by heart, and the phone only rings once before it's picked up. Dean doesn't even get in a 'hello' before Bobby starts yelling at him.

So, Sam told him, then.

It takes Bobby about five minutes and seven 'idjits' before he calms down enough to let Dean talk. “I'm sorry, Bobby. I know, I let you down. Sam even told me I was just like dad.”

“Bullshit,” comes Bobby's gruff response. “You're twice the man your daddy ever was, and I say that as one of his closest friends."

The air apparently cleared, they make small talk after that. Dean tells him about the other residents and staff members, and about the groups. He complains about his unfortunate lack of iPod and the fact that he can't sleep without music, before Bobby tells him to “Get over it, princess.” They talk about the garage, and the incompetence of the guy taking over Dean's position. They talk until phone time is over and it's time for wrap-up group.

Dean doesn't go. He knows his being a chickenshit, but he wants to avoid Sam and his less-than-sympathetic looks. Instead, he sits in the rec room and watches _Doctor Sexy, M.D._ That is, until Meg comes in and stands between him and his favorite medical soap opera.

“Follow my finger,” she taunts, waving a hand annoyingly in front of his face. She laughs when Dean tries to bat her hand away. “What, you didn't enjoy your little treat?” She leans down close to him, nearly touching her lips to his, and he gets an eyeful of breasts hanging out of her low-cut top. “There's more where it came from, big boy.”

“I'm done,” Dean tells Meg, pushing her away. “And you'd better keep your 'treats' away from my brother.”

“I'm no babysitter, Deano," she says with a satisfied smirk. "If your moose of a brother comes a'callin', I won't deny him. Especially if he pays directly,” she says with a wink. “Stimulants are his poison of choice, right? He looks dreadfully exhausted.”

Dean sneers at her, thoroughly pissed off at her nonchalance. “You deal to him, and Missouri will be the first to know.”

“Okay, okay.” Meg holds up her hands in surrender. “Buzzkill.” Then she leaves, swaying her hips exaggeratedly, probably sensing that he'd rather catch ebola than spend another minute with her.

Dean skips med time and turns down the pills when Pam comes and finds him. He's smart enough to know not to take a sleeping pill after alcohol, despite the fact that he would really prefer passing out over dealing with his inevitable nervousness and headache.

And that headache does come, full force, about an hour after talking to Pam. He is, however, lucky enough to be pulled out of his fit of self-loathing by Andy and Castiel, who stay up with him for another hour playing Uno. He loses every game, but it's a welcomed distraction from his current predicament.

He tries to sleep after Cas and Andy turn in for the night, but ends up tossing and turning in his bed for about forty-five minutes before Castiel sits up and stares at him.

“Can't sleep?”

Dean groans and rolls over onto his side, facing his roommate. “How could you tell?”

Castiel keeps staring at him until it passes the point of not-socially-acceptable and Dean clears his throat.

“Would you like to hear a story?” his roommate asks.

“Sure.” Dean doesn't tell him that of course he does, he loves the sound of his voice and could listen to him talk for hours. He forces that thought into the box in the back of his mind labeled 'teenage girl.'

“Have you ever heard of the Greek demi-god, Herecles?”

Dean fluffs his pillow and tries to get comfortable on his back. “All I know about mythology is what I've seen in _Clash of the Titans_ , that Disney movie I watched when Sam was little, and the Marvel movies.”

“I've never seen any Marvel movies.”

“Dude, _Thor_? _Iron Man_? _The Avengers_? None of those?”

“No, although I would be interested in seeing the one about Thor.”

Dean jumps out of his bed excitedly, wincing at the head rush. “Lemme go tell Ash and ask him if we could watch it tomorrow.”

He finds Ash in the lounge, rubbing Bela's back. She has her face in her hands and she's shaking, so Dean doesn't want to disturb them. He turns to head back to his room when Ash stops him. “What can I do for you?”

Bela looks up at him with watery eyes.

“I can come back later.”

“It's fine,” Bela tells him, standing up. “I was just leaving.” She tells Ash goodnight and goes back to her room.

“So, what's up?” Ash runs a hand through the short, business-in-the-front part of his hair.

“I was just wondering if we could watch Thor tomorrow for movie night. Cas has never seen it.”

Ash raises his eyebrows. “Castiel, king of myth and legend, has never seen _Thor_?”

“I know, right?”

“Charlie works tomorrow. I'm sure she has it. I'll give her a call.”

“Awesome, thanks. Goodnight.”

Ash claps him on the shoulder and Dean thinks that all the guys who work here are pretty touchy-feely.

When he gets back to his room Castiel is once again playing his Celtic folk music Dean found so relaxing. “I noticed this music made you calm.” Geez, could Cas be any fucking nicer? He makes Dean want to kiss him and do girly things like hold him and cuddle.

And Dean hasn't cuddled in... he counts in his head. Four years. Not since Cassie. But Dean really doesn't want to think about that. Fuck, he needs the distraction. “So, tell me about that Herecles guy.”

“Well, Herecles is the Greek adaptation of the Roman hero, Hercules. He was the son of the god Zeus and the mortal, Alcmene.”

Castiel tells him about about the ten labors, set by his enemy, to rid Herecles of the sin of killing his children. By the time Cas gets to the seventh trial, something about a bull, Dean is fast asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Friday November 14th  
(3 weeks into Castiel's treatment)

Friday morning begins with Dean puking his guts out in front of Castiel. He doesn't mean to, of course, 'cause who the hell plans to vomit in the presence of another person, especially one they have the hots for, but alas, he wakes up with a killer migraine and the telltale lurching of his stomach.

Dean bangs on the bathroom door, praying that Castiel opens it for him. He does, toothbrush in his mouth and a confused expression on his face.

“Uh, good morning.”

Dean pushes him out of the way, because it's either that or hurl all over the guy who, once again, Dean has the hots for. He just barely makes it to the toilet.

To add to his humiliation, Castiel stays with him through the entire ordeal, rubbing his back gently like the sweet fucking guy he is. When Dean finally comes up for air he hastily apologizes.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Cas says. “In fact, this is partially my fault. I shouldn't have given you that gin.” He has this guilty expression on his face like he just ran over Dean's puppy or something. Dean wants to erase that look as quickly as possible.

“Nah, don't blame yourself. I was being an idiot."

Castiel rinses his mouth and spits in the sink before turning back to Dean. “You have an addiction. It's like a disease, Dean, not an idiocy.” He fills up a little cup with water and hands it to Dean, who shakily grabs it. “I shouldn't have enabled that addiction.”

“S'fine, Cas.” Dean swishes the water in his mouth, ridding it of the disgusting taste of stomach acid.

“Do you think you could handle coffee?”

Dean nods. Coffee might provide some relief from the pounding pain in his head. “I think that'll be okay. Thanks.”

“Alright. Go lay down. I'll go get you some.”

Dean does as he's told, lying above the covers because the room feels a lot like a furnace at the moment.

Castiel comes back a few minutes later with coffee, iced, as if he knew exactly how Dean was feeling. “You're sweaty,” he explains. “I figured you'd like it better this way.”

Dean just stares at him, amazed by how he's being cared for. He isn't worthy of it.

Castiel must take his silence as a bad thing, because he grabs the cup and stands up. “Sorry, I should've asked."

Dean hates the apologetic look he gets. “No, Cas, wait. Thank you. You're awesome.” He doesn't mean to say that last part, but he's really glad he did because Castiel lights up like a Christmas tree.

“I think you're pretty awesome yourself.”

Dean stays in bed through breakfast and Castiel, best roommate ever, brings him toast from the cafeteria and a bottle of water. Dean thanks him, gingerly nibbles on his breakfast, and then passes the fuck out.

*

Pam wakes him up after med time with a gentle shake and a Prozac. “How are you feeling, hun?”

“Terrible,” Dean tells her, popping the pill into his mouth. He's started to admit that _maybe_ he needs to listen to the professionals and take his medication.

“What are your symptoms?”

“I have a migraine, and the sweats. Also, I threw up earlier. In front of Cas, I might add.” Like he wants to be reminded of that little incident.

“Sounds like withdrawal to me.” Pam tells him. Or a hangover. Probably a combination of the two. He feels guilty about his omission. “I can talk to the doctor and have her prescribe you some Librium, that should help. Until then, I can give you Tylenol.”

“Thanks, Pam.”

“Feel better, sweetheart.”

Just as Pam leaves, Sam comes in, a determined look on his face. Dean wonders if he'll get a fucking break; he just wants to sleep. Sam surprises him with a hand on his shoulder, and Dean feels himself relax a bit. “You look like shit.”

Dean shrugs. “Yeah, well, it's nothing I don't deserve.”

“I guess you're right,” Sam says. “And I deserve to feel like crap, too. And I do.” Dean sees the sadness in his brother's eyes, and the shame, and he feels awful for trying to take the easy way out yesterday.

“Listen, Sammy. You made a mistake. You're still a good person and you don't deserve to feel miserable.”

Sam sighs and his shoulders sag. “I don't feel like a good person. Especially after what I said about you being like dad. Dean, I'm really sorry. I–”

Dean raises his hand to stop him. His brother looks like he's about to cry. “I'm already over it." And since he's insensitive like that, he adds, “Don't get your panties in a bunch.”

“Asshole,” is the response he very much deserves.

Dean shoves his little brother. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately. You should come to DBT.”

“What the hell is DBT?”

*

DBT, as Ash explains, stands for dialectical behavioral therapy. He tells them that it's the idea that you can hold two opposite ideas and have them both be true.

”For example, you can admit you're having an urge and still decide not to act on it." He gives them all handouts with different coping skills, but Dean can't really focus on anything other than what feels like a someone taking a jackhammer to his skull. As soon as group is over Dean climbs right back into bed. He dozes off for what couldn't be more than five minutes, and when he opens his eyes there are two blue ones staring down at him.

“Sit up.”

When Dean does, Castiel gets into the bed behind him.

“What'r'ya doin' Cas?” he mumbles.

“Lie down.”

To his surprise, Castiel guides him down until Dean's head rests in hi lap.

And then something wonderful happens. Cas starts running his fingers through Dean's hair. He rubs gentle, soothing circles across his scalp, telling him the story of Dionysus, the god of wine. Dean tells him that it's not really helping, so he starts humming, a Led Zeppelin song. Dean slowly loses himself to the rhythm of the song and the feeling of Castiel's fingers, completely blissed out, migraine fading just a little bit and anxiety taking a plunge down to nearly non-existent.

Then, because his brother has the worst timing, Sam knocks on the door and peeks his head in.

“Oh, uh, sorry.” He looks away as if he just walking the two of them in the naked throws of passion and tells Dean that Bobby wants to talk to him on the phone. He hurries out, closing the door behind him.

“Awesome,” Dean says sarcastically, and he reluctantly pushes himself off of Cas' lap. “Thanks for the, er, message thingie.”

“Any time.”

Dean thinks he might hold him to that.

*

Oddly, all Bobby wanted was his laptop password. When Dean told him it's chevyimpala67, Bobby called him an idjit and hung up the phone. So Dean, now more than a little confused, is lying down on his sadly Castiel-free bed, headache coming back with a vengeance. Feeling exceptionally shitty, he skips art, and music therapy, and then lunch, choosing to play his guitar so he's at least doing something productive.

Castiel brings him toast again and is followed by Pam, who brings him Librium, which helps him feel marginally better by the time dinner rolls around, and he's finally hungry again.

They play another game as Dean eats his chicken wrap with new-found vigor. This game is easier than the word game; they take turns naming fictional characters in alphabetical order. Charlie uses a lot of Harry Potter characters, many of which Dean is ashamed to say he recognizes. Castiel, of course, adds a lot of complicated names that Dean assumes are from mythology.

After dinner they watch Thor, which Cas absolutely loves.

“According to the myth,” he says when the movie's over, “Loki actually gave birth to Sleipnir, Odin's eight-legged horse.”

“What. The fuck.” Dean stares at him, eyes wide. “You're joking.”

“I'm not.” There's a satisfied smirk on Castiel's face, as if it was his intent of all along to say the weirdest thing he could possibly say after they watched the badass Frost Giant nearly kill the even badassier god of Thunder. That guy actually squeezed out a mutant horse baby?

“He was in the form of a mare when he, or she, I should say, mated with a stallion.

Andy sighs dramatically. “Freaky-ass Norwegians.”

Dean couldn't agree more.

*

Wrap-up group involves everyone sharing their goal of the day and what DBT coping skills they used. Dean passes, wishing he had made more of an effort to try to pay attention to group. He's proud of Sam, though, who made it to all of the groups and used something called 'opposite-to-emotions action,' which Dean assumes is pretty self-explanatory.

He actually takes his Trazadone and falls asleep with no trouble, proud of himself for making it through his second sober day in over a year.


	6. Chapter 6

Saturday November 15th

Dean wakes up to a very awake Castiel pulling on his arm, wearing the same shirt he's been wearing since Thursday and his horrendous orange slippers.

“Come get coffee with me.”

Fucking morning people.

Dean runs a hand through his hair, feeling that it's sticking up in several different directions. At least it probably looks tamer than the bird's nest that is Castiel's sweaty hair.

“Lemme shower first.”

Cas pulls incessantly on his arm again. “Caffeine first, hygiene later.”

It's pretty hard to argue with the face he gives Dean, like saying no to a puppy who brings you a toy. So Dean humors him and drags himself out of bed to go get coffee.

Sam is in the kitchen, in his workout clothes, drenched in more sweat than Castiel is. There are two cups of coffee in front of him and he's leaning on one hand, nodding off occasionally.

“Jesus, Sam, don't run if it's gonna deplete your energy supply.”

Sam puts his cup down with much more attitude than necessary. “I'm trying to be _healthy_ , Dean. And you should, too.”

“He's right, Dean,” Castiel says, pouring himself a mug.

“Oh no, not you, too.” Dean flicks his ear. “Bad roommate.”

Cas laughs and smacks his hand away, turning to pour Dean his coffee. Sam raises his eyebrows. “Does a bad roommate make you coffee? Or, uh, _rub your head_?”

Dean has an insatiable urge to flick him, too. “Shut up, Sasquatch."

*

Dean stares at his brother in amazement as he piles breakfast food after breakfast food onto his plate. Eggs, bagels, sausage, grits, hash browns.

“Holy shit, Sam. You eating for two?” Dean does think it's entirely possible that his skank ex-girlfriend was some sort of evil succubus that impregnated his brother.

Sam gives him a totally uncalled for bitchface and grabs an orange. “When I was hooked I barely ate anything; now it's like I'm ravenous all the time.”

Dean puts a generous amount of food on his plate as well and follows Sam to the table where Charlie, Castiel, and Andy are sitting. Cas is fidgeting, spinning around his mug filled with what looks like tea.

“You okay?” Sam asks, and Dean feels a surge of affection for his brother and his enormous heart of gold.

Castiel doesn't seem to hear him and jumps when Sam puts a hand on his arm.

“Sorry, what?”

“Are you alright?” Sam asks. “You seem on edge.”

Cas folds his hands in his lap. “Oh, um, yes. Thank you.”

Sam lets it drop, choosing instead to slather his bagel with cream cheese. It's odd; Sam usually pushes for feelings.

Speaking of feelings, Dean throws caution to the wind and clears his throat. “I'm really proud of you, Sammy. I know it's hard for you, and I just wanted you to know.”

Sam gives him a wide happy grin. “Thanks, Dean. I'm really proud of you, too.”

And that's all Dean can really ask for.

*

Dean skips spirituality because, well, it's spirituality. He just doesn't do religion. Instead, he sits on his bed and tries to strum on his guitar with his shaky fingers. He gets up after a few minutes, the coffee having gone right through him. Dean knocks on the bathroom door, just like he's supposed to, and Castiel calls to him from the other side. “Who is it?"

“It's Dean. I can wait.”

The door opens anyways and to Dean's surprise Cas isn't alone. Andy is in there with him, a joint held up to his lips.

“No spirituality for you either?” Cas asks, taking a drag from his own joint.

“Not a believer,” Dean explains, trying to get over the shock of what is panning out before his eyes.

“Ah,” Castiel says, tapping a finger against his stubbled chin. He grabs Dean by the shirt and pulls him into the bathroom, closing the door behind them and standing his usual Cas-like distance away, which is not very far.

“Did you know that cannabis was actually used as a sacrament by Jews and early Christians?” Cas asks. “So really, we _are_ doing something spiritual."

“No kidding,” Dean says as Castiel hands him his joint. What the hell, it's not like he's _drinking_.

“It's also said that Shakespeare smoked it,” Andy tells them.

“Andy here is an English major.” Castiel points to his shirt. It reads 'Metaphors be with you.' “Though I don't really understand the reference.”

“Dude,” Dean says, handing Castiel the joint back after taking a drag. “ _Star Wars_.”

Castiel shrugs. “Never seen it.”

Andy raises his eyebrows, a perfectly appropriate gesture. “No way.”

“Way,” Castiel says casually, as if it's just fucking fine that he hasn't seen one of the greatest cinematic masterpieces of all time.

“Dude,” Dean repeats. He really is starting to sound like a cliché stoner. “Have you been living under a rock?”

“Well, I don't have cable, and the only DVDs I have are Christian movies, _the Passion of the Christ_ , _the Prince of Egypt_ , stuff like that. My mom always throws everything else away.”

“Didn't you have friends in high school that you could watch stuff like that with?”

“I was home-schooled, so I wasn't exposed to a lot of the stuff normal teenagers are.”

“Dude,” Okay, Dean really has to stop that. “What about you, Andy? You seem like you were a rebel in high school.”

“Absolutely,” he grins. “I was expelled.”

“For what?” Dean and Castiel say simultaneously.

“Weed. Boys room. Third period.” Andy says proudly. “Got my G.E.D.”

“Me too,” Dean tells him. “Well, I wasn't _expelled_. Dropped out, got my G.E.D. I didn't go to college.”

“College is overrated. Dean, have you ever tried shotgunning?” Castiel asks, and Dean nearly gets whiplash from the sudden change is conversation.

“Uh, no.”

“Would you like to try it?”

Dean can barely wrap his slightly buzzed mind around a response. “Yeah, sure.”

Castiel grabs the joint and Dean watches a pink tongue dart out and moisten his dry lips. Cas takes a drag and leans forward, so their lips are barely an inch away from each other. Just as Dean is about to lean forward, Castiel blows a mouthful of smoke in his face and giggles.

Fucking tease.

*

Another two joints, some eye drops, and a shit-ton of girly body spray later, they go to cooking class. Dean has a serious case of the munchies, and Castiel and Andy apparently do too, because the three of them are reprimanded by Ellen several times for sampling ingredients. They're making bacon mac and cheese, with the exception of Cas, who's using broccoli.

They eat what they cooked for lunch, and that's when Becky comes up behind Cas and wraps her arms around him, kissing him on the cheek. “Hiya, Castiel. I've got a question for you.”

Cas sighs. “If you're going to ask me the same question you always ask me, the answer is still no. I won't sleep with you.”

So that eliminates her as girl number four.

“But–”

“But _nothing_. You're with Chuck.” He looks annoyed as he stabs a forkful of mac and cheese that looks pretty burnt. How the fuck do you burn mac and cheese?

“He hasn't been Chuck for days.” Becky whines. “I'm not dating Carver.”

“You're still in a relationship. I may be easy but I'm no home wrecker.”

“But Ava's engaged.”

Castiel freezes with his fork halfway to his mouth. That's Bela, Meg, Eve, and Ava, the fourth girl.

“She never told me that.”

“Yeah, well.” She smiles smugly, seeming happy to throw Ava under the bus. “She doesn't wear her ring. It's locked in the office, since Bela kept stealing it.”

“Fuck.” Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose as Becky skips off to her booth, sitting with none other than Ava.

Dean feels bad that Cas feels bad, but he's pretty pleased that at least one girl just got knocked out of the picture.

*

Bobby surprises Dean and Sam by visiting them after lunch. Castiel has a visitor, too, and Dean recognizes him as his brother, Gabriel. Gabriel hands him a plastic bag and Cas looks inside, laughs, and puts it down on the seat next to him.

Dean realizes Bobby, Sam, and even the dog, are staring at him like he's an idiot.

“Huh?”

Bobby rolls his eyes. “I said how are you doin', boy?”

“Oh. Right. I'm doing better, thanks. How are you?”

“Been good. Brought you both some things.” Dean just now notices that he also has a plastic bag. Bobby hands it to Sam, who lights up. He pulls out three balls of multicolored yarn and a crochet hook.

“Did you buy him some tampons, too?” Dean jabs. He really has no problem with guys crocheting, but he can't resist the urge to be a dick to his little brother from time to time. Okay, a little more often than that.

“Quit yer yammering, or you won't get your present.”

Dean puts on his most innocent expression and bats his eyelashes, but Bobby just stares at him blankly.

“Alright, alright. Sorry, Samantha.” Dean then gets fifty shades of bitchface, from both Sam _and_ Bobby.

The older man sighs exasperatedly and pulls something out of his pocket. It's an iPod Nano. And it's _pink_.

“Holy shit Bobby, thank you. But uh, why is it pink?”

“That's for that little stunt you pulled the other day.”

Dean supposes he deserves much worse for getting drunk in a fucking rehab center. Color aside, it's a great gift, and he grabs the device and turns it on.

“All of the songs from your computer are already on there. Don't say I never did anything for you.”

Dean gets up and envelops his surrogate father in a tight hug and realizes just how lucky he is to have these two amazing people sitting at the table.

*

When they get back from visiting time, which seemed way too short for Dean's liking, everyone who had guests has to go to the nurse's office for a clothed body check with Pam, who also looks through any gifts the residents brought back. Castiel walks out of the office with a self-satisfied smirk and Pam shakes her head and laughs as he walks away.

“That boy, I swear. He's going to be the death of me.”

Dean is really curious as to what Cas' brother gave him, so he asks him as soon as he gets back to their room.

“Flavored, neon condoms and a bottle of lube.” Then Castiel adds, “God, I love my brother.”

*

“So what do you guys want to watch next week?” Charlie asks, collecting the empty popcorn bowls as the credits of _the Avengers_ roll on the TV in the rec room. “As requested, we're watching _Thor 2_ on Saturday, but we don't have a movie picked out for Sunday.

“Do you have _Star Wars_?” Andy asks.

“Psh, 'do I have _Star Wars_.' Hell yeah, I have _Star Wars_ , what kind of girl do you take me as? Everyone cool with that?”

People around the room nod their heads.

“Great. Now that that's settled, time for wrap-up group.”

They all move to the group room and Sarah leads them through a guided meditation. Dean thinks it kind of stupid at first, but after about thirty seconds he starts getting really relaxed, lulled into a dreamlike state by her soft voice. He manages to focus on her words, at least until Sam starts snoring next to him.

Dean lets him sleep through skills and goals and shakes him away when group is over.

After Dean gets his meds he declines an offer to play something called Bananagrams made by Andy and Castiel (and even Chuck/Carver is convinced to play), who say it's like Scrabble. He's too sleepy to get his ass kicked by the English major, the vocabulary genius, and the writer.

Instead, he hooks up his headphones to his new iPod and falls asleep to “Sweet Child of Mine.”


	7. Chapter 7

Sunday November 16th

Sam seems pretty pleased when Dean shows up to the application of DBT skills group, where Ash gives them all handouts with an overview of said skills. Dean studies it, determined to have something to offer up in wrap-up group tonight. Ash tells them that their emotions are one-hundred percent valid, one-hundred percent of the time, and that that there's no such thing as a bad emotion, just a difficult one. They go over interpersonal effectiveness, and Dean soaks up the information like a sponge, despite his slight headache and the ball of anxiety growing in his chest.

After group he gets a Neurontin from Pam and luckily not the bitchy lady who was behind the window this morning at med time. She doesn't ask him to rate his anxiety like the other nurse did; she just hands him the cups with a kind smile and an, “I hope it helps, honey.”

Thankfully Dean has already swallowed by the time he turns around and collides with Castiel, who carries with him the strong scent of vanilla, despite the fact that Dean hasn't seen him shower since Thursday.

“Holy shit, Cas. Wear a bell.”

The smile that Cas was wearing falls. “I'm sorry, I do that sometimes. My sister tells me it's a problem.”

“It's fine.” Dean is glad when Castiel smiles again. “What's up?”

“I just wanted to tell you that you should probably keep your iPod on you, or locked in the office.”

Oh, crap. “Bela?”

Castiel nods. “She's been circling our hall like a vulture. I took the liberty of grabbing it for you.” He takes Dean's iPod out of one of the pockets of his over-sized sweater and hands it to him. He doesn't mention the color.

“Thanks, Cas. I really appreciate it.”

“I know, I know, I'm too good for you,” Castiel says with a cocky smile, patting Dean on the arm. “Come to the kitchen with me? I'm skipping smoke break.”

“Good for you,” Dean tells him and follows him to the kitchen, which is empty except for Colt, who's lying under the table.

Castiel grabs an apple and Dean grabs a bag of Doritos, health food be damned. He pours two cups of coffee, pouring a sugar into his and a ridiculous amount of soy in the other one for Cas.

“I'm actually going to pass. I get quite anxious when I don't have my cigarettes.” Castiel struggles to cut his snack with a plastic fork.

“Oh. Do you want me to make some tea or something?” Cas has done nothing but take care of Dean since they've met and Dean wants to return the favor.

Castiel manages to slice off a bit of apple, only to give it to the dog, who wags his tail happily. “That would be nice, thank you,” he says in his polite Castiel way. “Chamomile, please.”

Dean heats up a cup of hot water and drops a tea bag into it. He sets it down in front of Cas, who's stabbing at his fruit frustratedly. Colt has his front paws on his lap, whimpering.

Castiel sighs. “Fine.” He holds the apple out for the dog, who grabs it and lies back down, tail wagging again.

“Sam is very lucky to have you,” Cas says after a few minutes of quietly sipping on their beverages. “When my older brother, Michael, found out about my drug use, he told me I was a disgrace to the family and tried to get my mother to cut me off.” He looks at Dean sadly, and Dean really wants to give this Michael guy a piece of his mind.

“Shit, Cas. I'm sorry. I would never say that to Sammy.”

“Again, he's very lucky to have your support.”

“Nah, I'm the lucky one. Sam's had to deal with my bullshit for much longer than I've had to deal with his. He's a good kid, super smart, but a total geek.”

“Says the man who uses _Star Trek_ characters for the ABC game.”

Dean scoffs, acting scandalized. “ _Star Trek_ is not geeky, it's _classic_.”

“Sure it is." Castiel smirks at him. "Geek.”

*

“Now,” Sarah starts, folding her hands into her lap primly. It's anxiety reduction class, which Castiel deems necessary after needing a Klonopin after his skipped smoke break. Pam was proud of him, which made him a little proud of himself.

“I'd like everyone to share what they do to reduce anxiety. Sam, would you like to start?” She seems to really like Sam.

“Well, I like reading.”

“Nerd,” Dean coughs.

“Shut up, jerk.”

“Bitch.” They're bickering reminds Castiel of how he and Gabriel act around each other. It's refreshing.

Sarah clears her throat. “Gentlemen.”

“Sorry, Sarah,” Dean says. It's his turn now. “When I'm stressed I like to go for a drive, listen to some classic rock, or play my guitar.”

“Excellent. Castiel?”

“I smoke,” he replies, and just saying that makes him regret skipping it during break a little.

“How about something a little more recovery focused.”

“Okay, sex.” He knows that's not what she wants to hear, but he can't help fucking with her a little bit.

Meg snorts. “Amen to that.”

Sarah actually face-palms. “ _Recovery focused,_ Castiel.”

“Alright, alright. I take a Klonopin.”

“I guess that's a little better, but you don't want to be completely dependent on medication. Does anything else help you relax?”

“I do enjoy reading. And drinking tea.” Especially drinking tea with Dean, but he doesn't say that.

Sarah smiles at him warmly. “Good. I like those answers much better.”

The other residents are not as difficult as Castiel was. They sketch, crochet, do yoga. When everyone is done Sarah leads them in a progressive muscle relaxation, and by the end of it Castiel's body feels all warm and melty. It's a delightful combination of medication and meditation.

Sam, once again, falls asleep.

*

Missouri barges into their room after lunch, telling Castiel that he'd better get his butt up and go to group.

“Which group?” Dean asks, curious about what could possibly merit a visit from the therapist.

“Sex and love addiction,” Cas says nonchalantly. He sighs and puts down his bright pink leather-bound Lewis Carol book. “I don't have a sex addiction.”

“Mmm hmm” she hums, clearly not believing him.

Castiel groans and puts his book on his shelf, swinging his feet off of the bed. “Fine, fine. I'm coming.”

Missouri turns her steely gaze onto Dean next. “And _you_ , young man, you're not off the hook, either. I have assignments for you.” She tosses a huge packet of papers on the bed in front of him. “I expect those to be done by the time we have our appointment on Wednesday. And Castiel, honey, I'll see you tonight before dinner.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Castiel follows her out the door and Dean grabs a pen and starts on the giant mound of crap Missouri put on his bed.

After about fifteen minutes, Dean gives up. It's too much, too personal, and the whole thing makes him anxious and uneasy. So Dean takes his iPod and Cas' dock and takes a long, hot shower. He may or may choose to jerk off to the thought of messy brown hair and blue eyes. It wouldn't be the first time this week.

*

The owner of that messy hair and those blue eyes comes into their room right before dinner, under Missouri's arm. He has a vacant expression on his face and his eyes are red and puffy. Dean heart sinks at the sight.

“You okay, Cas?”

Castiel doesn't seem to hear him.

“Cas?”

“Leave him be,” Missouri says quietly. She rubs Castiel's back as he pulls back his pile of blankets, climbs underneath them, and pulls them over his head.

*

Castiel skips dinner but makes it to art twenty minutes late, looking only slightly brighter. He gives Dean a small smile and grabs a painted canvas. It's covered in the beginnings of an angel, and it's absolutely incredible.

Sam looks up from where he's drawing a really ugly dog and his eyes widen. “Cas, man, that's really great.”

“Not great,” Dean says. “Amazing. Beautiful.” Wow, that was sappy. But Castiel looks down shyly and his cheeks turn pink. Bashfulness is not something he's seen with Cas yet and Dean finds it unbelievably cute.

“Thank you. I'm much better with my right hand." He gestures to his cast, which Dean has been very curious about. "What are you working on, Dean?”

Dean shrugs. So far all he's done is pick at a red paint chip on the table until it looked like a rabbit. “I'm not really that artistic anymore.”

“Anymore?”

“Dean used to do these kickass sketches,” Sam tells him.

Dean digs his thumbnail into the paint chip, removing one of the rabbit's ears. “Not since I started drinking.”

“I'm sure you could pick it up again,” Sam supplies. Stupid optimistic little brother.

“Not with these shaky hands.” The Librium lessens some of his withdrawal symptoms, but his hands still tremble like a bitch.

“It's process over product, Dean,” Sarah tells him, grabbing a piece of paper and a box of colored pencils. “Why don't you start with this?”

She hands him a mandala coloring sheet and smiles at him encouragingly.

Dean decides to humor her, willing his hands to stay steady and trying not to stare at the methodical way Castiel mixes paint and the calculated strokes of his brush across the canvas.

And of course, Dean does stare, quite a bit, being reminded of just how fucked he really is.


	8. Chapter 8

Monday November 17th

Dean is startled awake Monday morning by blaring eighties pop and an enthusiastic roommate.

“Come running with us.”

Dean tries to throw his pillow at Castiel's head but misses terribly. “'S'too early.”

Cas picks up his pillow and hands it to Dean, who smushes it over his face in an attempt to drown out the obnoxious music.

“Sam told me you'd say that. He also told me to tell you that there will be pretty girls with bouncing breasts.’’

“Dick,” Dean groans. Of course his brother had to make him look like a pervy asshole.

“He said you'd say something along those lines, too.” He pulls the pillow off of Dean's face _._ “Pretty please?” And then Castiel gives one of the most pitiful puppy dog faces he's ever seen, rivaled only by Sam, king of baby canine expressions.

Dean really can't say no to that. “Fine. But if I'm gonna go out there and freeze my nuts off, I'm gonna at least need some coffee first.”

*

Dean doesn't realize how completely out of shape he is until he runs two laps around the pond to Sam and Castiel's three. He's also outmatched by Bela and Meg, the latter of the two yelling, “Run Forest, run!” as they pass him.

He is still panting through the entire ten minutes it takes Castiel to shower afterward. When Cas comes out, he's wearing the same outfit he wore running, the same outfit he's been wearing for _two days_ , a baggy blue shirt and a big gray sweater. Dean considers offering to do his laundry. Still, when Dean passes him to take his shower, all Dean smells is vanilla and the faint scent of cigarettes, but not even a hint of sweat or body odor.

“Shower's all yours, champ!” Castiel teases, and Dean's not sure what he wants to do more: kiss him, or smack him.

*

Medical aspects with Pam is all about smoking and the patch and nicotine gum, which she passes out to all of the smokers in the room, challenging them to try that instead of having a cigarette during smoke break. Although they all chew diligently, half of them go out to the deck after group anyways. Dean goes to the phone room before he can see where Castiel goes.

He sits down to call Bobby, but before he dials the phone next to him rings.

“Hello?” he answers.

“Yes, hi. Is Sam available?”

Dean snaps into big brother mode in an instant. “Who's asking?” If it's Ruby, he's hanging up.

“It's Jess. Jessica Moore. I'm a friend of his from school.” She sounds sweet, and Dean feels sharp stab of guilt for snapping at her.

“I'm, uh, sorry for being so rude. I thought you might have been someone else.” He suddenly feels like an idiot because Ruby wouldn't even know how to reach Sam here unless his brother told her, and Dean is pretty sure he didn't.

“No worries. You must be Dean. Sam's told me all about you.” Dean can practically hear her smile on the other end of the line.

“Not all bad things, I hope.” He wishes Sam had told him about this girl, but he didn't tell him much about _anything_ Stanford-related. “Hold on a sec, I'll go get him.” And so he doesn't leave her thinking he's a _complete_ asshole, he adds, “It was a pleasure talking to you, Jessica Moore.”

Sam's in his room working on schoolwork and gets this big dopey smile on his face when Dean tells him who's on the phone. He rushes off, homework abandoned, and Dean absently wonders if the time will come again when someone gets that look on their face while thinking about _him_.

*

Sam talks during process group. It's painful to hear, as Dean listens to the story of how two broken people tried and failed to put each other back together. Sam talks about using meth to excel in school, staying up for days at a time with Ruby, studying and fucking and fighting and doing it all again. That's something Dean really didn't need to know about his baby brother, but he still sits next to him and soaks up every word, hearing him talk about him and Ruby enabling each other and fueling their addictions together.

And then Sam talks about Jess, the light at the seemingly endless tunnel, who watched marathons on the History Channel when he and Ruby were arguing, which happened often. He tells the group he had this spark with Ruby, but it turned into wildfire, and Jess was there with the hose. She showed him unconditional kindness and was always encouraging him to get clean.

At the end of the story Dean is sure of one thing. He really wants Sam to marry that girl.

*

For wrap-up group Charlie has them take a piece of paper and draw out their safe place. Things that calm them down when things get tough.

Dean draws his car and his record player. Sam draws a stack of books. Typical. Castiel draws a pegasus and a pot leaf. Also typical. And Andy... Andy draws a half-naked warrior princess riding a polar bear, whatever the fuck that even means.

It's okay, though. Dean likes Andy.

And Cas.

Especially Cas.

*

It's 1:46 in the morning when Dean hears moaning. And not the sexy kind. The _pained_ kind.

He squints through the darkness at the bed next to him and sees twitching. Then he hears Cas mumble something sounding like, “Please, don't,” and Dean knows there's something _very_ wrong. So he does the only thing he can think of; he sits down on Castiel's bed and shakes him.

And gets hit in the face.

“Ow, fuck.” He touches his nose and sees blood on his hand when he pulls it away. When he looks back at Cas he's sitting up, knees pulled up to his chest and fingers gripping his hair. When Dean touches his shoulder, he jumps.

“Don't touch me. _No_.”

"Shit, okay. I won't touch you." Dean doesn't know what the hell is happening but it's making him feel sick with worry. “Cas, look at me. C'mon, I'm not gonna hurt you.” Castiel just shakes, near-violent tremors. He needs help, and Dean has no idea how to give it.

So he goes to find Charlie, who's playing a board game with Max in the rec room. She looks up at Dean and her face falls when she sees his expression.

“Gimme a minute, okay?” she asks Max. He nods at her and Charlie pulls Dean out of the room.

“What is it? What's wrong?”

“It's Cas– I don't know. He was having a nightmare so I woke him up and he just kinda freaked out. I couldn't calm him down, I just–”

“Hey, it's okay, Dean. You did the right thing waking him up. I'll come help, just a sec.” Charlie goes into the kitchen and takes an orange out of the freezer, and Dean wonders what the hell frozen fruit is going to do.

“We use these as a tactile grounding tool,” she explains when she sees his confusion. “Castiel is having a flashback. Holding this can help pull him back to the present. Can you get Pam and tell her what's going on?”

Dean does as he's asked and walks into their room a minute later with the nurse on his tail. Charlie's on the bed with Cas, who's holding the orange and shaking a little less.

“Castiel, do you know who I am?” Charlie asks softly. He doesn't respond. “It's me, Charlie. You're safe, you're at Riverside.”

“And I'm Pam, we're here to help you.”

Cas shakes his head and starts saying something that breaks Dean's heart. “Zachariah, don't.” Over and over.

Dean wants to hit something, break something, break some _one_. He balls his hands into fists and feels his nails threatening to break through the skin of his palms. “Who the fuck is Zachariah?”

Charlie looks at him sadly. “I'm sorry, I can't tell you that.”

Pam sits down on the other side of Castiel's bed and rubs his back. “I'm not sure who Zachariah is, but he ain't me, angel. I'm gonna give you a Klonopin if you'll let me.”

It takes five minutes or so of gentle coaxing to get Cas to take the pill and fifteen more minutes for him to calm down enough to talk and tell them that it's okay for Charlie and Pam to leave. Before they go, they ask if they should leave the lights on, and after Dean assures Castiel that it's fine, they do.

As soon as they're out the door Cas gets up, a little unsteady on his feet, and goes to the bathroom. Dean sits on his bed while he waits, ready to offer any needed comfort. Castiel's face is flushed when he gets back into bed and apologizes for keeping Dean awake, avoiding eye contact and picking at the fabric of one of his blankets.

“It's okay, Cas. I don't mind. I'm just glad you're okay.”

He looks up at Dean then and his eyes widen. “Did I do that?” He points to a spot right under Dean's nose. Pam gave Dean a tissue when he went to find her but he must have missed some of the blood.

“It's fine. You were asleep and scared. I understand.”

Castiel sighs and lies down, pulling his blankets up to his chin. “I used to be in Sam's room,” he confesses, “with a guy named Jake. He was angry that my nightmares kept him up so Missouri moved me to this one, which was Andy's, and moved Andy into the room he's in now. I had this room to myself up until you got here. There's a single room, right next to the nurse's and the therapy offices, and I'm sure Missouri would move me there if you asked her. I wouldn't blame you.”

Dean puts his hand on Castiel's shoulder, squeezing lightly. “You're not going anywhere.”

Tuesday November 18th

“Bobby, are you wearing cologne?”

Bobby coughs, adjusting his beaten-up old trucker hat. “No.”

Dean leans forward into his personal space and sniffs. “You totally are! What's the occasion, old man? I know you didn't get all spiffed up for me and Sam.”

Bobby actually fucking _blushes_. In the twenty-six years Dean has known him, out of all the states he's seen the man in, he's never seen _that_. “I have a date.”

Dean feels his jaw actually fall open. “Bobby singer, crotchety old hermit, has a _date_?”

“With who?” Sam inquires.

“With me,” a voice says from behind them.

Sam's eyebrows fly up all the way up to his hairline. “ _Ellen_?”

“Damn right, Ellen,” she says, putting her hands on her hips in a fashion that could accurately be called sassy. “You tryin' to keep it a secret, Bobby?”

Bobby gapes at her for a moment but luckily for him, he's saved by Tessa clearing her throat.

“Thank you everyone for coming to multi-family group. Today we're going to be doing an obstacle course.” She points to the floor where there is a series of paper cones set up. “We're going to have family members leading the residents who will be blindfolded.”

Tessa takes volunteers to participate. Sam is led by Dean, who gets incredibly frustrated that he doesn't guide his brother through without knocking over quite a few cones down with his enormous feet. Lily's mom helps her, and she only knocks down one, much to Dean's dismay. Becky is led by her dad and knocks down over half of them. Dean tries not to be smug about it.

“You all did great,” Tessa tells them after, most likely because she's a therapist and is probably legally bound to not tell patients they sucked. “This exercise was a metaphor for recovery. Dean, what did you think about guiding your brother?”

Crap. Feelings.

Everyone looks at him expectantly, including Bobby, looking almost like he's encouraging Dean.

Fine, screw it.

“I, uh, compared myself to Lily and her mom. They did a hell of a lot better than I did.”

“You mean than _we_ did,” Sam says. It's not Sam's fault, though. He was blindfolded, trusting Dean to guide him to the end. It's Dean who failed him.

“Everybody's recovery is different. Some people are going to have more slip-ups than others, and you can't play the blame-game. No one benefits from that,” Tessa tells him. “You two did your best, and that's what matters.”

Dean nods and slumps down in his chair, wishing he could believe her.

Wednesday November 19th  
(1 week into Dean and Sam's treatment)

Dean skips 12-step to work on his assignments, because he, being Dean, put off until the very last minute. He reluctantly fills out each form, coming across questions like,  _What do you like about yourself?_ and, _What would you change about yourself?_ and, _Describe a pleasant experience from your childhood._ He answers questions about how he did in school, if he ever felt like harming himself, and how authority figures would describe him. He pointedly avoids questions relating to his parents and past relationships.

When Dean turns the stack of papers in to Missouri, she tsks at him disapprovingly and tells him to draw her up a family tree.

“Oh, and before you go, I would like to talk to you about your room arrangement.” Dean knows exactly where this is going. “Charlie brought it to my attention that Castiel woke you up Monday night. There is a single bedroom in this hallway that I can relocate him to if you'd like. I understand that his nightmares and flashbacks can be difficult to witness.”

Fuck no. Dean could never do that to Cas. He tells her this much, adding, “He needs someone to wake him up or get a staff member. I won't leave him by himself.”

Missouri grabs his hand from across her desk. “That's very kind of you, Dean, but if he needs anything the nurse will be right next door. She will be able to hear him if he makes any sounds.”

Dean shakes his head, resolute in his decision. “No. He's not going anywhere, and neither am I.”

*

“Dean, you cause a distraction, I'll break the glass.”

There's an outing every Wednesday, and this week's is to a zoo. Castiel has never been to one before because seriously, he must have spent his life living under a very large, very heavy rock. He also happens to be spending the entire trip high out of his mind, planning the escapes of the animals he says are being held captive against their will. He may have a point, but there's no way Dean is dragging his ass out of the lion pit for anything less than a hundred dollars. Maybe. So instead of letting Cas sign a death warrant for the sake of the humane treatment of animals or waiting around for him to magic away the glass in the snake tank Harry Potter style, Dean buys him a cotton candy to shut him up. It actually works until Andy (who is also on whatever the fuck Cas took and somehow makes everything he suggests sound convincing) dares him to climb into the primate exhibit, at which point Dean drags them both back to the bus. By the time he thinks they're able to see the rest of the zoo without getting killed or arrested, it's time to leave.

Dean is amused to see that at some point during the visit his brother purchased something in the gift shop.

“What have you you got there, Samster?” He doesn't wait for Sam to answer; Dean grabs the bag out of his hand and peers inside. It contains a soft plush polar bear with huge brown eyes, which he pulls out to thoroughly embarrass Sam with. “Aww, you got yourself a stuffed animal. Andy not snuggling you enough at night?”

“Apologies, Sam,” Andy says. “I'll try harder, I promise.”

Castiel puts a hand over his heart dramatically. “I thought we had something, Andy.”

“I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I've moved on. I prefer a taller man.”

“I'm taller than you, asshole.” Cas glares at him before sighing and looking at Sam. “But really, who's the bear for?”

Sam's cheeks are pink, but that might be from the cold. “It's for Jess.”

Dean grin widens into an expression that he thinks resembles the goofy one on his brother's face. “How adorable. You've got yourself a little crush,” he teases, but he is genuinely happy for Sam.

“Shut up, jerk.”

“Bitch.”


	9. Chapter 9

Thursday November 20th

“My parents were terrible people. I'm glad they're dead.” After the terrible story Bela just told them in the always-depressing family dynamics group, Dean is pretty fucking glad they're dead, too. How anyone could abuse their own child like that is beyond him.

“I'm so sorry, Bela,” Charlie says, rubbing her back. “Thank you for sharing.”

The group echoes with a “thank you” and Bela sits down on the couch next to Meg, who wraps an arm around her, showing compassion that Dean hasn't seen from her before.

“We still have time for another person. Who would like to go?”

Castiel raises his hand. He looks nervous, so Dean puts a hand on his knee. Cas lays his hand over it.

He talks about growing up close to Anna and Gabriel, the two brothers often pretending to be the knights to Anna's princess, rescuing her from the life they lived. Castiel talks about being home-schooled and going to church three times a week, memorizing and reciting Bible verses and living in the shadow of his older brother, Michael, who seems like a real douchebag, Dean thinks. Cas squeezes his hand when he shares that his father left when he was twenty, disappearing off the face of the map, presumed dead. His mother remarried, a man named Ion, and gave birth to Inias, who Castiel is very close to. Ion died of a heart attack shortly after the boy was born.

He never mentions a Zachariah, and that bothers Dean throughout the group, and it's all he can think about afterward as he makes his way to the phone room. He wants to call and catch up with Jo, but one of the phones rings before he can even pick up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Put me on the phone with Castiel,” comes a terse reply. Okay, rude.

“May I ask who's speaking?”

“This is his mother.”

That makes Dean very uneasy, mostly because of the testimony he just heard. Judging by the way Cas talked about her, he doesn't like her very much. “Okay, I'll see if he wants to talk to you.”

“Tell him he'll speak with me whether he'd like to or not.”

Dean stomps down the urge to tell her she's a frigid bitch who doesn't deserve any time communicating with her son and says instead, “I'll go get him.”

Castiel is on the smoke deck, sitting on a lounge chair next to Meg and Bela. His face falls when Dean tells him who's on the phone.

“Fuck,” he says, stubbing out his cigarette and following Dean inside.

*

Dean chooses to sit at the phone right next to Castiel, and Cas assumes it's to eavesdrop, so he keeps his voice down. No need to involve Dean in his family drama any more than taking the phone call already had.

“Naomi.”

“My son. It's good to speak with you.” Castiel doubts it; he's been here almost four weeks and has gotten several calls and visits from Gabriel and Anna, but this is the first time he's heard from his mother.

“What do you want?” he snaps, and he doesn't feel the slightest bit guilty. She deserves far worse from him than a little bit of attitude.

“I'm calling on behalf of Zachariah and the community.”

Castiel feels like his blood just turned to ice in his veins. “Does he know where I am?”

“Of course he does.”

Cas grips the table until his knuckles turn white. His head is spinning and he feels like he's going to vomit because he _knows_ and there's nothing stopping him from showing up at the only place he feels safe.

“I told him. He cares about you very much and wants you back here, despite the world of trouble your lies have caused the Garrison.”

This is not happening. Not after Castiel got away, as temporary as his escape may be. “Fuck you, Naomi. And fuck Zachariah. Fuck all of you psychopaths.” He doesn't care how he does it, but he is going to get away from them for good. Even if it kills him.

“Don't you dare speak to me like that. You're coming home. If you don't return after your little vacation we will be alerting the authorities to the little kidnapping stunt you pulled.”

Castiel considers it for a moment. Prison might be better than the life he is being put through. But he won't leave Inias to fend for himself. He can't.

So he slams the phone back onto the receiver, ignoring the concerned look he gets from Dean, and runs back to his room. He needs to be numb. _Now_.

*

Dean doesn't knock on the bathroom door. He doesn't know why; he always does, but he forgets that there is no lock on it and swings it open, right into Castiel.

Who's shooting up.

“Shit, Cas, I'm sorry, I'll leave, I–” Dean tries to close the door but it's pulled open again.

“It's fine, Dean.” He pulls out the needle and rolls down the sleeve of his sweater like nothing significant just happened. “I was just heading out. It's still smoke break.”

Cas leaves the bathroom and grabs a cigarette out of his shelf, leaving Dean staring after him, at a loss of what the hell to do.

After Dean relieves his bladder he sits down on his bed and waits for Cas to come back in. After about fifteen minutes he does, with a sort of dazed expression on his face that Dean has seen day after day but had never made the connection.

It's entirely too personal, probably crossing over some pre-established roommate boundaries, but he needs to ask. “What's the point of being here if you're gonna keep using?”

Castiel shrugs and messes with his iPod, choosing some Celtic music and stretching out languidly on his bed. Dean is momentarily distracted by the wide stretch of skin between his pants and shirt, wondering what it would be like to trail his lips across it. But he pushes the thought aside because first of all, Dean's not entirely sure the gesture would be welcomed. Second, he wouldn't make any first moves on Cas while he was high.

His roommate brings his hands to rest on the pillow underneath his head. “Being here is an escape. Also, the nurse at the hospital told me it was here or a psych ward, and I picked here.”

_Hospital?_

“I overdosed,” Castiel says blankly, then rolls over, effectively putting an end to the conversation.

*

“You should go to AA,” Castiel tells him after his drug-induced nap. “I'm going to NA.” NA stands for narcotics anonymous. Good. That's good.

But still. “I don't do 12-steps anymore. Didn't work for me then won't work for me now.” Plus, AA is all about God. And Dean doesn't do God.

Castiel grabs his arm and tugs on it. “If you go to AA, I won't go to smoke break.”

Dean pulls his arm, along with Cas, back toward his body, causing no more than a few scant inches to separate them. “How about I don't go to AA and I drag your ass off the smoke deck, whether you come willingly or not.”

“You wouldn't.”

And that's how, an hour and a half later, Dean watches Castiel as he sulks on his bed, chewing a strip of nicotine gum and looking like he's going to channel the wrath of Heaven and smite Dean where he stands.

Friday November 21st  
(4 weeks into Castiel's treatment)

It's 3:18 am when Dean wakes up to Castiel having another nightmare, the words “please” and “no” spilling from his lips. He gets up and sits on the bed next to him and says his name. Charlie told him that that is a better way to wake him up, as opposed to touching him. It decreases the chances of Cas waking up to a flashback.

For the second time Dean hears the name 'Zachariah' and feels an unpleasant twist in his stomach before he repeats Castiel's name. Cas jolts awake, eyes wide and breathing heavily.

“Hey, Cas, it's okay.”

“Where am I?”

“You're at Riverside, remember?”

Cas runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up in manic tufts. “Oh, right. Dean. You're my roommate.” Castiel looks around and throws the blankets off himself. “I'm just going to go to the bathroom.” He gets up, and Dean knows exactly what he's going in the bathroom to do, but it's not his place to tell Cas to just stay in bed, as much as he wants to. His roommate comes back without flushing the toilet, confirming Dean's suspicion.

He sits back down and Dean has an overwhelming urge to pull him into his arms, so he does, and Castiel sags against him and tucks his head under Dean's chin. Dean holds him close, running fingers through his hair. He feels his t-shirt getting damp and his heart sinks.

“Who's Zachariah?” Dean asks, because this man hurt Cas, _badly_ , and Dean absolutely despises him for that. Castiel lets out a broken sob and Dean holds him tighter, feeling like an complete asshole for upsetting him further. “I'm sorry, shit, I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry.” Cas doesn't respond, just tangles his fingers in the back of Dean's shirt.

“Just try to calm down, okay?” His fingers resume stroking Castiel's hair. “He can't hurt you here.”

Cas shakes his head, his entire body trembling. “He can always hurt me.”

Dean holds him for half an hour before Castiel's breathing slows and Dean knows he's asleep. He lays Cas down on his pillow, tucking him in under his pile of blankets. He's tempted to kiss him, and after a few moments of deliberation he gives in, pressing his lips to Castiel's forehead. Dean wants to stay seated on the bed, even more so he wants to crawl in with Cas, but he doesn't want to scare Cas by having him wake up with someone who wasn't curled up to him when he fell asleep. He isn't even sure that his roommate would appreciate it; they were kind of cuddling up until a few minutes ago but Castiel was awake and consenting to it. So Dean sits with him for a few more minutes before the pull of sleep drags him back to his own bed.

Saturday November 22nd

Despite Sam's nagging, Dean doesn't go to spirituality, staying in his room instead, where Castiel is listening to Aerosmith. Aerosmith turns into Queen, and they're belting out “Bohemian Rhapsody” when Sam knocks on the door and walks in uninvited.

“Dean, we have a family session with Tessa now.”

Dean groans and follows Dean to the therapist's office.

Their session, as predicted, is one giant chick-flick moment, but it's actually kind of good to get things off of his chest that he normally would shy away from talking about.

“I guess I just feel guilty, you know? For not being a good role model for Sam.”

“My problem had nothing to do with you. You could've been dry as the Sahara Desert and I still would've taken the wrong path. I loved Ruby, and she was very persuasive. On speed I felt smarter, my sex drive was higher–”

“Ugh.” Dean cringes. “I did _not_ need to know that.”

Sam turns a little bit red at that. “Sorry. But what I'm trying to say is that the entire time I was feeling all of those good things, I couldn't stop thinking that if you ever found out, you'd be so disappointed. And now all I can think about is how much I've let you down.” Sam's eyes get all misty and Dean wants nothing more in that moment to see them clear.

“You could never let me down, Sammy. _Never_. Like I said, you made a _mistake_. One that could have gotten you killed, which scares the shit out of me, but you're getting help, and I'm so proud of you for that. Bobby's proud of you, Ellen's proud of you, and I know mom would've been proud of you, too.”

“Really?” Those tears he was hoping not to see fall, making Dean’s heart constrict.

“I'd bet my life on it.”

*

Dean has no reason to be jealous. Castiel isn't _his_ , so why is the sight of him lying on the couch with Meg curled up next to him causing a dark anger in his chest? Cas is running fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp just like he did to Dean's not too long ago. He can hardly pay attention to _Star Wars_ with the two of them blinking at him like a bright neon sign in the corner of his vision.

Sam isn't faring much better in the focus department. Becky is trying to get him to read her fanfiction, whatever that is, and won't stop poking and prodding him, pleading for Sam to pay attention to her. Poor Chuck is sitting on her other side, scribbling into his notebook and looking downright miserable.

Welcome to the fucking club.

Dean gets up before the movie is even over, trudging to his bedroom to mope by himself. He knows he's acting like a petulant child, but he really can't find it in himself to give a damn.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: John Winchester is a shitty parent in this. I'm not a John-hater when it comes to the show, I swear.

Sunday November 23rd 

Dean stays up late Sunday night after a few rounds of Bananagrams, during which Castiel, Andy, Sam, and Chuck kick Dean's ass in turn. Words were never his strong suit, and up against a guy who reads and studies myth like it's going out of style, and English major, a nerdy future lawyer, and a writer, Dean doesn't stand much of a chance. Though he does manage to spell out 'oral,' 'dick,' and 'orgasm,' and for that Dean is pretty freakin' proud.

He's in a great mood as he brushes his teeth and showers, and he drifts off to what Dean refers to as Castiel's sex-line-operator voice, telling him the story of the great Norse wolf Fenrir (another of Loki's weird-ass children) and his foretold role in the battle of Ragnarök.

Monday November 24th 

The next night is not nearly as great as the previous one. Cas has another nightmare, and a pretty fucking bad one at that, judging by the actual _screams_ that wake Dean up and break his heart into a million tiny pieces. He's on Castiel's bed in an instant, saying his name softly but not touching him. It takes about six times, but he finally wakes up. No flashback this time, just an armful of shaking, sobbing Cas.

Dean barely hears the scratching at the door, and a few seconds later it opens. Colt runs in first, then Sarah. The dog sits at the edge of the bed and rests his head on the mattress.

“Castiel, do you need anything?” Sarah asks.

Cas wipes at his eyes, gaining some composure. “No, thank you. Sorry for making so much noise.”

“No need to apologize,” she says in that always-kind voice of hers. “Should I take Colt with me?”

“I think I'd like him in here, thank you.” Castiel scratches behind the dog's fluffy ears.

“Alright, goodnight. Let me know if you need anything.”

After Sarah leaves Cas gets out of bed a heads to the bathroom.

“Cas–” Dean stands up and grabs his arm.

“Don't, Dean,” Castiel says, pulling his arm away and opening the bathroom door and stepping inside. “Please, don't.” And then he shuts the door behind him.

When Cas comes back out and climbs into bed, Dean thumbs away the fresh tears streaking down his cheeks. Cas leans into the touch, then forward even further until his lips are pressed firmly against Dean's.

Against every cell in his body that's screaming at him to push back into Castiel's space, to press him down into the mattress and kiss him until the tears disappear, Dean pulls away.

Cas squints in confusion, and then his eyes get all wide like a deer caught in headlights. “Fuck, I'm sorry. Was that not okay?”

It was more than okay. Still, it didn't feel right considering Castiel's current state of mine. “You're upset.”

“Figure that one out all by yourself, Sherlock?”

Biting back a snide retort, Dean sighs. “You're not thinking straight.”

“You're right about that," Cas says with a laugh. "There's nothing straight about the thoughts going through my head right now.” He leans forward in an attempt to steal another kiss, but Dean gently pushes him away.

“Stop deflecting.”

“Stop _shrinking_ me.” Castiel looks angry, but after a few moments he looks more hurt than anything. “I'm sorry, I thought you wanted this. Can we just forget–”

Dean reaches forward and grabs one of Cas' hands. “Hey, I want this, trust me. I would love to give you what you want, but not like this. Not when you have drugs pumping through your veins. I need to know that you really do want this.”

“I've _wanted_ this, Dean. It's not just a spur of the moment decision.” Dean holds back a smile at that; he wasn't just imagining the chemistry between them.

“Then you can wait a little bit longer. We can try this again when you have a clear head.”

Castiel scoffs and leans back against the wall. “Okay. I can do that. If that's what you want.” His eyes close but he clings to Dean's hand with his sweaty one. “Could you just–can you stay with me? Just for a little while?”

“Of course, Cas. Whatever you need.” Dean grins at him as he gets an idea. “Would you like to hear a song?”

“That would be nice.”

Dean lets go of Castiel's hand and grabs his guitar off of the floor. Even though the memory is painful, Dean strums on his guitar and sings “Hey Jude,” keeping his voice low and calming. Cas rests a comforting hand on his knee as he loses himself in the music. He sings until his voice cracks and he feels eyes get watery. When the song is finished, Cas wraps his arms around him and strokes the back of his neck.

“That was beautiful. Thank you, Dean.”

Dean rests his chin on Castiel's shoulder, breathing in the soothing scent of him, and then reluctantly pulls away.

Colt is watching them from the floor, and after Cas pats his lap as an invitation, he jumps up onto the bed. Castiel lies back down and the dog crawls forward until his paws and head rest on his chest. Dean wouldn't consider himself a dog person, but it makes a really cute picture.

“Please, tell me about that song. It clearly means a lot to you.” He looks at Dean with those big blue eyes, and although it makes him sad to see that his pupils are constricted with the effects of the heroin, even in the dark, Dean wants to do anything to make him happy.

“My mom used to sing that to me and Sam as a lullaby. She was the most loving and caring person I've ever met. She made the best pies for me, singing along to the radio and dancing with me and my brother while they baked.

“She died when I was four. Faulty wiring in the stove. Sammy was only six months old, and I carried him out the door when my dad stayed inside to try to save mom. He was too late, though.”

Castiel grabs Dean's hand and rubs calming circles over it. “You don't have to continue, if you don't want to.”

Dean shakes his head, appreciating the out he's getting, but something about Cas' kindness makes him want to tell him everything. He hasn't felt like that with someone in a long time. He normally doesn't touch anything categorized as feelings and emotions with a ten foot pole. Dean goes on.

“My dad kinda lost it after that. Started hitting the bottle real hard. He never held a job for very long, so we spent a lot of time jumping from motel to motel, never staying in one place for over six months.

“He wasn't around much, so I basically took on the role of both parents for Sam. When dad was around he was training us, essentially. He was a Marine in his younger years and wanted us to carry on that family legacy. I was only nine when I held a gun for the first time.”

“Jesus,” Castiel breathes out.

“I know. He wasn't exactly parent of the year.

“And then one night when Sam was six he got sick. Real sick. Dad hadn't been home for two days, and since he was between jobs at the time, I figure he was on a bender. So I called the only person I could think of, my dad's best friend, Bobby.”

“The Bobby who visited you?”

“One in the same." Dean smiles fondly. "Anyways, he hauled ass halfway across the state and drove us to the hospital. Sam was in there for three days. It was mono, and I could tell it drained the life out of him. He must have gotten it from sharing drinks with me or something. You can imagine how guilty I felt.”

“You couldn't have known,” Castiel tells him, and he brings Dean's hand up to his mouth and presses a gentle kiss to it.

“Yeah, that's what Bobby kept telling me. He took us back to the motel we were staying at, told us to pack our bags, and drove us to his place in Sioux Falls. Dad called the next day and from what I heard, he and Bobby had quite the argument. But my dad gave up fighting and we stayed with Bobby. He took us to school on Saturday and enrolled us the next Monday.

“Our dad came to visit us every few months and Bobby sobered him up for a few days before he left again, always telling me, "Take care of Sammy."

“So I did, with tons of help from Bobby. Sam excelled in school, earning a 4.0 his entire four years of high school, while I dropped out after junior year and started working for Bobby. We were so proud of Sam, though, when he graduated. And then to top it all off, he got a full ride to Stanford.

“But then dad visited again, and when Sam told him the news, he told him that he was a disappointment, that we both were. He's raised _Marines,_ not an an alcoholic mechanic and a lawyer. That's the last thing he ever told us. Dad went to a bar and got shitfaced, then got in his car to drive off to God knows where. He drove head-on into a minivan. There was a young woman and her baby in the van, but they made it out with just a few scratches, thank God. Our dad died on impact.”

“Oh my God, Dean, I'm so sorry.” Castiel's grip on Dean's hand tightens.

“Sam almost didn't go to Stanford after that. Bobby found a Marines pamphlet in his room and we had an intervention. We convinced him to go, convinced him that dad's opinion didn't matter and that we supported him, and that's what mattered. So he went. But I don't think he ever got over the guilt of dad's death. He blames himself.”

“Anyways,” Dean runs a hand through his hair nervously. “I didn't mean to lay that all on you like that. I just wanted to tell you that after the fire I had nightmares, too. Of mom burning. Then Sam and dad, and then Bobby and Ellen and Jo, too. I still have 'em, sometimes.”

Castiel kisses his hand again and lets his lips linger over Dean's knuckles. The warm breath over his skin gives him a chill. “Thank you, Dean. It means so much that you would share that with me.”

“Yeah, I kinda feel like we're in a Lifetime movie right now.” It's strange for him, talking to someone like this, but he's surprised to find he doesn't mind too much.

Castiel lets go of Dean's hand and tugs at the chain of his dog tags, but leaves them tucked under his shirt. “Were these your father's?”

Dean feels his face pale at that. Castiel must notice, too.

“I'm sorry,” Cas says, releasing the chain and running his fingers down Dean's arm. “I shouldn't have asked.”

“It's okay,” Dean tells him, even though he feels anything but. “I, uh, really can't talk about that. Not yet, at least. Someday, maybe.” He runs his thumb over Castiel's hand, which still rests on his arm. “I will tell you, though, that they belonged to a much better man than my father.”

“Okay,” Castiel says, and he pulls his hand away from Dean and runs it through Colt's fur. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“'Night, Cas.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains homophobic language. The character using it does not mean any of it. I can't explain more without giving away spoilers, but the issue will be resolved shortly. Please don't hate me.

Tuesday November 25th

Dean is in the shower, rinsing shampoo out of his hair, when he hears the bathroom door open, then close.

“Uh, hello?”

He figures it's Cas, cause who else would it be, and his suspicion is confirmed when he hears his roommate's sleep-gruff, “Hello, Dean.”

Dean flounders for a moment, trying to think of what the hell to say in a situation like this. He settles with, “Cas, have you ever heard of boundaries?” He hears the sound of an electric razor being turned on and wonders how they got from a single kiss to shared bathroom time.

“I have, yes. We talk about them sometimes in group.” That's all he says on the matter and Dean pokes his head out from behind the curtain to stare at him, completely befuddled. Castiel is shaving like he couldn't be bothered by Dean's presence, and Dean notices that he's using a trimmer, which explains the perpetual scruff.

At a complete loss for word, Dean pulls the curtain closed and finishes his shower, only stepping out once Cas has left.

And he forgot his clothes.

Dean wraps the towel around his waist and steps out of the bathroom, wincing at the change in temperature. He sees Castiel pulling clothes off of the floor and tucking them under his arm. When he looks up and sees Dean, he drops what he's holding in a manner usually seen only in cliché rom-coms. Dean almost laughs, but then he sees the heat in Cas' eyes and the sound gets caught in his throat.

Castiel is staring at his chest, specifically his tattoo. He walks over to him, never taking his eyes off the protective symbol.

“Sam and I, we both have one, it's–ah–” Dean's train of thought derails when Cas brings his lips down and mouths at the black ink. “Fuck, Cas.” He moans when Castiel starts tracing the circle of flames with his tongue, then sucks the flesh into his mouth when he gets to the center of the star, teasing it with just a bit of teeth. Dean feels all of his blood rushing south so fast it's dizzying, and he needs to kiss Cas like _now_ , so he pulls him up and brings their lips together. Castiel's lips are soft and his mouth is warm when Dean licks into it as he's guided to a bed; he's not even sure whose it is because all of his brain cells are honing in on the man pushing him down into the mattress. Cas climbs in next to him, wrapping a leg over both of Dean's, rolling his hips against his side. It's not where Dean needs friction, so he rolls them over until he's on top, grinding his erection against Castiel's own.

And then out of nowhere, Cas shoves him off. Hard.

“I can't do this.”

"What? What's the matter?”

Cas' eyes flit back and forth across the room, never landing on one thing for more than a second, and never on Dean's own. He looks panicked, and Dean has no idea why. He was clearly enjoying himself only a few moments ago.

“I can't–it's _wrong_.”

Dean feels a knot constricting in his chest, anxiety bordering on anger. “I know you don't believe that.” He _can't_.

Castiel pushes up off of the bed and starts pacing. “God says it's an abomination.”

At his words the anxiety he was feeling is taken over wholly by the anger. “Since when do you give a fuck what God thinks?” Castiel stops pacing and opens his mouth, then closes it again. “And if you really do, what would he have to say about you fucking every girl that bats her eyelashes at you?” Dean's yelling now, and Colt stares at him with his tail between his legs.

“I–that's different.” Cas walks toward the bathroom, his back to Dean. “Fuck. I need to – I need–”

“Heroin? That's the fucking answer to everything for you, isn't it, Cas?”

Castiel balls his hands into fists and Dean can see that he's shaking. “ _Stop_.”

“Things get tough, might as well shoot up, right?”

Cas whips around to face him with a fury that scares the shit out of Dean, if he's being honest. “Fuck you.”

Dean balks at that. “But you won't, will you, Cas? Because I'm an _abomination_.”

If looks could kill, Dean would be a charred pile of ash on the floor right now. “You have no idea what I'm going through right now.”

“Sure I do,” Dean snaps, glaring right back at Cas. “Homophobic, religious _bullshit_ that your cult family brainwashed you with.”

Castiel turns around, swings the door open with much more force than necessary, and slams it shut behind him, conversation apparently over.

How the hell had things gone to shit so fast?

*

Castiel doesn't sit at Dean's table at breakfast. He can't even look him in the eyes after what he said to Dean, which was, as Dean put it, _bullshit_. He couldn't tell Dean the truth, though. He couldn't tell him why he panicked, why he is terrified of taking things further.

So he sits with Meg and Eve, hoping to send a message to Dean that it isn't going to work between them. It can't, because Cas is too fucked up. If they start something more, Dean will eventually get tired of Castiel not giving him what he wants. And then he'll leave, and Cas doesn't think he'd be able to handle that.

Judging by the angry glares he's seeing from the corner of his eye, Dean got the message loud and clear.

*

“I tried to be intimate with Dean.”

Missouri sighs, her gaze soft but still disapproving. “Castiel, you know sexual relationships here are not encouraged. But, according to the condoms in your possession and the personal accounts of three of our young ladies here, you haven't let that stop you yet.”

Castiel feels his face heat up and he plays with a button on his sweater. There's something about Missouri makes him crave her approval. She has a tough motherly vibe to her, strict but still caring, something he never got from his own mother.

“Still, I'd like to know what happened.”

Cas rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Well, things got pretty heated this morning, and um– uh–” He stops, dropping his eyes to the floor.

“While I don't think that sex is conducive to your recovery right now, I will never judge you, Castiel. Please, continue.”

Castiel starts fidgeting with his button again, which has suddenly become very interesting. He takes a deep breath and starts again. “Things were going great. And then I felt that he was, you know, hard, I panicked. I got scared, all of these memories screaming at me, so I started lying. I told him it was wrong, that God said it was an abomination, and before he got angry he just looked _hurt_. And I was the one who did that to him. After he opened up to me last night, too. He told me about his family, Missouri, and I basically spat in his face when he was just reacting to something _I_ started. I feel like such an asshole right now.”

Missouri reaches across the desk and grabs his hand. “You're not an asshole. You just rushed into something you weren't ready for. You pushed Dean away because you were scared, not because you wanted to hurt him. I don't think you're in the right place mentally to try to be with another man when it brings up all those difficult emotions you haven't been able to work through yet. But honey, if Dean's a good man, which I believe he is, he'd understand if you told him you weren't ready.”

“You don't know that, though.”

“And you don't know that he'll react negatively. You just have to find out by giving him a chance.”

“I don't want to get hurt, Missouri.”

She squeezes his hand. “And I don't want that to happen, either. I'm just saying that pushing him away could lose you a valuable friend. I'm not saying you should have sex with him. I just want you to know that not every man is like Zachariah. Some have big 'ole hearts like yours.”

“Thank you. I'll definitely think about it.”

And he does, weighing the pros and cons for about three seconds before he makes up his mind.

He's going to make things right with Dean.

*

Dean actually goes to fitness for once, determined to work out his frustrations on the treadmill in the small exercise room.

“What's wrong, Dean?” Sam asks, looking at him with those big concerned hazel eyes that he uses on Dean way too often. Dean groans and turns the volume of his iPod up.

And then his brother goes from kicked puppy to bitchface #17 in about 2.5 seconds and yanks the earbuds out of his ears.

Dean glares at him. “ _Rude_.”

This apparently just fuels Sam's annoyance engine and he pulls the safety out of the treadmill, causing Dean to trip and nearly break his neck. Okay, that may have been an exaggeration.

“Cas didn't sit with us this morning and you barely ate. And now you're _exercising_. I know something's wrong. What the hell happened?"

Dean tries to grab the safety chord but Sam pulls it away.

“Cas is an asshole. That's what happened.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Nope. Now gimme that back.”

Sam gives him back the treadmill chord but holds the headphones out of Dean's reach. “That just doesn't seem like Cas.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, he had both of us fooled. Now let me get back to my workout.”

Sam hands him the headphones back but doesn't leave him alone, coming back to the treadmill in between crunches and lunges and weird stretches to crank up the speed or incline like the dick that he is. Dean has his pride to think of, especially since it was greatly depleted earlier this morning, so he doesn't protest, and by the end of the group Dean is sweating bullets and wanting another shower.

So he takes one, this time thankfully Castiel-free.

He skips art to avoid his roommate. He knows he needs to stop acting like a teenage girl who just got dumped at prom or something, but he's too pissed off to care.

Lunch goes about as well as breakfast did, with Dean poking at his food and Castiel sitting with Andy, who apparently Dean lost in the divorce. His bitterness is lessened a bit as Charlie explains LARPing and a fictional kingdom called Moondor.

*

Dean doesn't go to DMT, which stands for dance movement ,because not only does he want to avoid the object of his anger, he also doesn't dance.

The first reason is shit all over when he goes to his room to find Castiel sitting on the bed, reading _The Odyssey_. When Cas sees him he opens his mouth to say something before Dean backs up and closes the door, cutting off whatever he was going to say.

*

Eve discharges after dinner, and Dean is glad to see her go. That's one less girl for Castiel to get his hands (and other parts of him) on. Not that he wants Cas. Because Cas is an asshole. Dean skips yet another group to stay away from the guy, who has somehow gotten so far under his skin that he's probably going to need a surgeon to cut him out. Or copious amounts of alcohol. He doesn't know why he's so far gone for _one person_ , but he wants it to stop. He wants to stop caring.

*

Of course, as per Dean's luck, he gets stuck behind Cas in the med line. He has to hear him ask for a Klonopin, has to stifle the urge to ask him what's wrong, if he's okay. Though, it's probably just a result of his big gay crisis that is apparently a huge fucking deal.

Castiel is in the shower when Dean gets back to their room. Dean sticks his headphones into his ears, his so far wonderful avoidance and repression mechanism, and turns the volume way up, a way to signal _stay away_ in case Cas decides he wants to try talking again.

He does, apparently, because his face falls when he sees that Dean has shut him out again. Cas looks at him sadly for a few seconds before he turns off the light and climbs into bed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and ridiculousness.

Wednesday November 26th  
(2 weeks into Dean and Sam's treatment)

Morning group is all about forgiveness, and one look at Castiel's pleading blue eyes and Dean is out the door, no looking back. After a bleak breakfast and med time, he plays with Colt for a while in the rec room, tossing a stuffed squirrel around until his bad mood seems to rub off on the dog, who eventually ignores both Dean and the toy and stalks out of the room. So Dean watches TV until it's time for his session with Missouri.

The topic of forgiveness is fresh in his mind, but instead of talking about his pathetic longing to tell Cas it's okay, he understands that he grew up with religion shoved down his throat, and that he'll wait until he's ready, Dean talks about his father and his inability to forgive him. The session takes an hour and a half, and when they are done, Dean feels no closer to letting go of his past than he had been at the beginning of the session. He only feels drained.

Fucking therapy.

*

Dean decides to stop going out of his way to avoid Cas, because he's missing out on practically everything, so he goes to the mall outing because he knows that this may be the only time to do gift shopping before Christmas. He buys Sam a book of compiled Shakespeare works. Dean is still royally pissed-off at Cas, but that anger is starting to soften as time goes by, and he thinks that by the holiday things will be a little more friendly between them, if not intimate again. So he throws caution to the wind and buys him a gift, too. If they're not civil by then, he can just give it to Sam.

Dean is just putting away Sam and Castiel's presents when the latter man pushes him against his dresser and kisses him with enough force that he's practically bending backward. It feels perfect, the way their mouths fit together, but Cas has a lot he needs to explain first, so he leans back as much as he can without slipping a disk or something.

“What was that for?”

“I wanted to kiss you,” Castiel says, latching his mouth onto Dean's neck. “I still want to kiss you.”

Dean wants to pull away, because what the fuck is happening, but _holy shit_ Cas is biting kisses on all the most sensitive parts of his neck, and he finds himself leaning into the touches.

“I'm kinda getting mixed messages here.” He can't help but moan as Cas nips at his earlobe.

“I didn't mean what I said. Not a signal word of it.” He pulls away from what is probably going to turn into a hickey and looks at him with an apologetic look that seems pretty genuine.

“Then why did you say it?”

“I was scared.” Castiel brushes his lips against Dean's chastely. “I'm sorry.”

Dean is trying to figure out what was so terrify about what they were doing that would cause such a reaction.

“Cas, have you ever been with a guy before?”

Castiel takes a shaky breath and looks down at the floor, twisting his hands together. “Just one, and it was far from enjoyable.”

Dean feels anger rising up in his chest again, this time not toward Cas, but toward whatever asshole made him nervous to be with another man. He probably rushed him, didn't do enough prep or use enough lube. Dean's been on the bottom end of painful sex before, so he gets it.

“Look, I'm not like him, okay? I won't hurt you. We can go as slow as you need to.”

Cas finally looks back up at him and presses their lips together again, this time slow and gentle, and then leans his forehead against Dean's. “Thank you.”

*

They sit together at dinner and Dean can't get over how _right_ it feels. He talks with Andy and Sam and Cas about books the whole time, which Dean admits is a pretty nerdy, but he is a closeted fan of reading and he likes being part of table conversation again.

They talk about Shakespeare, which Sam loves (and Dean feels pleased with his choice of present today), Vonnegut, whose books Andy and Dean argue over, and _The Lord of the Rings_ , which Castiel has neither seen nor read.

“Woah,” Andy says, putting his sandwich down and staring at Cas like he just grew a second head. “First _Star Wars_ , now _Lord of the Rings_? Have you been living under a rock?”

“That's what I've been saying!” Dean tells them.

Garth pounds on the table with his fist. “I'm calling Charlie, _STAT_ , my friend.”

And so continues the game of discovering what classics Cas has been deprived of. They have a lot of catching up to do.

*

After dinner Sam and Castiel bug Dean about going to yoga.

“I don't do yoga,” he tells them, scrolling through his iPod to find something to drown out his annoying brother and roommate.

“You did yoga with me that one time, remember?” Of course Sam would bring that up.

“That's because I was trying to get with the instructor, who was incredibly hot. And I succeeded, I might add."

“This one's hot, too," Cas tells him.

“Yeah Dean, I think you'll like this one,” Sam adds.

In the end, Dean caves, but truthfully he's only going because he wants to see how bendy Cas is. If the instructor is attractive, that's just a bonus. “Fine, fine. You win. I'll go.”

*

It turns out it was all just a scheme that Dean fell for. The instructor is _not hot_. It's _Garth_ , and although he is kind of cute in his own quirky way, he would never describe the BHA as sexy or anything like that.

Despite the fact that Dean found out that Castiel is indeed very flexible, fueling his fantasies for at least the next week, he regrets saying yes to the whole thing. He actually faceplants in warrior III pose, but thankfully the his embarrassment is overshadowed by Andy letting one rip during downward dog and laughing so hard Garth asks him to leave, which admittedly was pretty fucking hilarious.

Still, he definitely won't be doing yoga again anytime soon.

They have free time after that, and Cas, Dean, and Andy spend the first half getting completely baked in the bathroom again, during which time Dean and Castiel _actually_ shotgun, and they spend the second half of break watching Ancient Aliens, at Cas' suggestion. It was the first thing Cas discovered on Netflix here, and it's full of conspiracy theorists who talk about how people a long time ago were visited by extraterrestrial beings and given technology to build shit they wouldn't have been able to build before. Dean doesn't know if it's the weed giving him paranoia, but the damn show is starting to sound very convincing.

They have to pause for wrap-up group and meds, but Dean doesn't take his sleeping pill, determined to stay up with Cas and Andy and watch more of the show.

They're still pretty stoned as they continue the marathon, and then Castiel suggests they go to the kitchen and make hats out of tin foil, so, as he says, “the aliens can't read our minds when the mothership comes.” Dean is not nearly high enough to do anything but watch Andy and Cas with raised eyebrows as they fashion each other pointed protective hats, but seeing Cas laugh so freely makes him really happy.

When they finally go to bed around midnight, finally clear-headed, Dean receives several goodnight kisses from Castiel and marvels at the day's turn of events.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More tooth-rotting fluff. Sorry.

Thursday November 27th

Dean wakes up with soft tufts of hair tickling his nose and the pleasant smell of vanilla. There is also a hard cast digging into his back and two absolutely freezing feet tangled with his own. One of Castiel's fingers are drawing lazy patterns across his chest.

“Nightmare?”

Cas jumps at Dean's voice. “I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you, I just thought–I wanted–”

“Hey, relax. It's fine. I don't mind at all.” It's actually really nice, waking up with Cas in his arms. He wouldn't mind having it happen more often, though definitely not because of nightmares.

“Thank you, Dean. It helped a lot.”

“Any time, Cas, really.” And he means it.

*

Now that Dean and Castiel are on good terms again, Dean goes to all his groups. He even goes to the talent show after lunch.

Normally he wouldn't participate in something like a talent show, but he's been practicing on his guitar ever since they found out about it last week. Cas told him their first night together that his favorite song is “Yesterday” by The Beatles, so that's what he performs. Their eyes never leave each other's the entire time, and when Dean is done Castiel stands up and claps louder than anyone else in the cafeteria.

And then Becky sits down in front of the mic and everything gets extremely awkward.

She reads a poem that is obviously about Castiel, “with the name of an angel” and “eyes that are endless pools of blue.” Then she reads another poem, not naming any names, but this one is clearly about Sam with “beautiful majestic locks” and “legs a mile long.” Everybody just stares at her with "what the fuck?" expressions on their faces.

When she's done Chuck stands in front of the microphone, clears his throat, and breaks up with her.

*

“You went to AA,” Cas says in between kisses.

“I went to AA.” For someone who's still taking hard drugs, Castiel sure is enthusiastic about Dean's recovery.

“That's excellent. What did you think?”

“I wasn't really into the whole higher power thing. You know I'm not a religious guy.”

Cas nuzzles into Dean's neck and presses his lips to his skin.

“Your higher power doesn't need to be God. It can be family, love, music, fucking butterflies and rainbows. It doesn't matter."

“Oh. Huh.” Dean considers that as Cas snuggles against him. Dean doesn't normally cuddle, but he has to admit it does feel nice, and it seems to make Castiel really happy.

They lie like that for a few minutes until Castiel goes to smoke break and Dean goes to the kitchen. Meg is sitting at the table, eating a banana as inappropriately as possible, and Sam is sitting across from her with an orange like the good little health-freak he is. And he's _crocheting_.

Sam smiles when he sees Dean. “You went to all your groups today.” What's with people making such a huge deal out of that?

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says as he grabs a pack of Oreos. “Don't wet yourself.”

Still, he can't help but be a little proud of himself.

*

After snack and smoke Dean finds Sam and Cas in the rec room, and they're _both_ crocheting.

“Oh no, not you too.”

Castiel pokes him in the side with his hook. “It's soothing.”

They work on whatever the hell they're making all through the rest of free time and wrap up group. Cas continues back in their room while Dean showers (and uses his roommate's vanilla-scented products, but he doesn't mention that).

Then Dean finally gets a look at what Castiel is making. He doesn't know what it's supposed to be, but it's _horrible_. It's crooked and has gaps and Dean finds his effort so endearing that he pushes Cas down into his pillow and kisses him senseless.

Thursday November 29th

Two days, two _Star Wars_ marathon movie nights, four halted (hot) make-out sessions, and three cold showers later, Dean is very sexually frustrated.

Tuesday December 2nd

“I want to make a dreamcatcher,” Dean tells Sarah quietly during art group, strategically sitting on the other side of the room, away from Castiel. “For Cas, you know?”

Sarah looks at him like he just told her he was thinking of proposing to the guy. “Of course. I have an instructional book and all the materials in that cabinet over there.” She points to the one near Cas, so Dean will have to be inconspicuous. “If you need any help just let me know.”

“Thank you, Sarah.”

Dean keeps an eye on Castiel as he works. His roommate is sitting with Sam and they keep talking to each other quietly over whatever they're making.

It's complicated and Dean feels rushed, but by the time group is over he holds a small but awesome dreamcatcher, with gray feathers and a blue bead. The fact that the bead happens to be the same color as Castiel's eyes is merely coincidence.

He carefully puts it in his coat pocket, stepping out into the cold and walking with Sam and Cas through the newly-fallen snow.

Dean waits until after lunch to pull Castiel into their room, having grabbed a strip of tape from the office.

“I made you something.”

Cas lights up like a kid who's just been told the family is going to Disneyland. “You did?”

Dean pulls the dreamcatcher out of his drawer and says, “For your nightmares, you–” He's cut off by an attack of kisses. They're all sweet, not sensual or anything, but they're perfect and they make Dean happy.

“No one's ever done anything this nice for me before,” Castiel says when they finally break apart.

Dean feels his good mood drop a few degrees. He knows Cas' upbringing wasn't the best, but still, it's not _that_ great of a gift. Did anybody show him kindness, even as a kid?

“Do you like it?”

Cas plants one more quick kiss on Dean's lips and then wraps his arms around him. “Thank you. I love it.”

Wednesday December 3rd  
(3 weeks into Dean and Sam's treatment)

Instead of going to his appointment with Missouri, Dean goes to take a walk with Castiel and Colt through three inches of snow, because he would much rather freeze his balls off than go over his autobiography assignment with her. So they strap the dog into his little blue snow boots and walk around the pond. It’s totally worth it, spending some alone time with Cas. He just hopes his therapist isn’t too mad at him.

*

They’ve been in Barnes and Noble for about ten minutes, and Dean has been victim to no less than eight angry glares from Missouri. He’s in the movie section, hiding behind the entire _Harry Potter_ movie collection, which he plans on buying for Sam as a Christmas present, when she finally gives up, probably to go scare the shit out of someone else.

He’s still a little on edge when Castiel appears just a few inches behind him with a, “Hello, Dean,” causing Dean to make an embarrassing sound that he can’t even convince himself is manly.

“Christmas shopping?” Cas asks, unfazed by the early grave he nearly just threw Dean into.

“Uh, yeah. Sam.” Dean sees that he already has a bag. “You?”

“Yes. I actually also bought a gift for Sam,” he says, swinging the bag idly.

Dean waits for Castiel to say something else, or leave so Dean can buy _him_ a present, but he just stands there staring at him with those ridiculously blue eyes.

“Well, I gotta–”

Dean is momentarily distracted by Castiel looking over his shoulder and nodding. Dean turns to see who he was gesturing to, but finds a pair of hands clamped over his eyes.

“What the hell?”

Dean hears Sam echo his question from what sounds like only a few feet away. He’s guessing his brother is in the same predicament as the one Dean finds himself in. He's also guessing that Sam must have been holding a Christmas present for him. Castiel pulls him backward, then turns him and walks him forward. He hears a scuffle that sounds like it may have been Sam falling into a shelf.

“Damn it, Andy!” His brother’s voice sounds farther away now.

“If you weren’t so tall I could see where I’m going.”

When Castiel finally releases him Dean looks around. Sam is dwarfing Andy a few aisles away, close to the register.

“Interception averted!” Andy cheers, and then he and Cas do this air high-five which is by far the dorkiest thing he’s ever seen them do. Besides, of course, the anti-mind control alien hats.

“Uh, thanks?” Sam says, scratching his head comically.

“Now, as you were,” Castiel tells Dean with a little bow, and then he’s gone, right out the front door.

Good, now Dean can search for _his_ presents.

*

“Dean, I have something for you.” Castiel grabs the Barnes and Noble bag off of his bed.

“Don’t you wanna wait until Christmas?”

“I want you to get as much use out of it as you can.” He reaches into the bag and pulls out a plain black sketchbook and a huge pack of colored pencils. The nice, expensive kind.

“Holy shit, Cas.”

His roommate beams at him. “I figured now that you’re sober you might want to start up again. Your brother tells me you’re very talented."

Dean isn’t sure what to say, so he pulls Castiel into a tight hug.

“You’re the best, Cas. Seriously.”

*

Dean spends his free time in the lounge, watching Castiel quiz Sam on law school stuff and thinking of what to sketch. When Cas looks up at him and smiles, Dean’s breath catches in his throat. His eyes have never looked so bright before. Dean picks up a blue colored pencil and starts to sketch.

*

When they’re back in their room after break Dean realizes that Cas never went to the smoke deck. He’s sitting on his bed, chewing on some nicotine gum, which Dean can taste when he gives him a myriad of kisses as a reward. He gives Dean a dazed, blissed-out look when they break apart for air.

“I should skip smoke break more often.”

“Yeah, you should.”


	14. Chapter 14

Friday December 5th  
(6 weeks into Castiel's treatment)

Dean wakes up to Castiel in his bed again, ice-cold feet and all. Everything else is warm, though, and when Dean opens his eyes he sees that Cas not only brought his comforter with him, but two crocheted blankets.

Dean tries to extricate himself without waking him, because if Cas had a rough night he wants him to catch up on some sleep, but when he wiggles out of the octopus hold he's trapped in, Castiel raises his head and blinks up at him blearily.

He seems surprised by his location. “Oh. Hello.”

“You know, if you have a nightmare, you could wake me up.” Cas usually makes enough noise that it alerts Dean, but this is the second morning he's woken up with him in his bed.

“Didn't wanna bother you,” Cas explains, dropping his head to Dean's chest. He looks relaxed, but Dean can feel the tension in Castiel's body.

“I keep telling you, Cas, it doesn't bother me. If it did, I would have let Missouri move you. I hate the thought of you dealing with this alone. I want to help you, so I need you to tell me when you need it.” Dean really wants him to open up to him more, to tell him what he dreams about that leaves him so shaken. He wants to stop feeling so useless.

Cas sighs when Dean starts running fingers through his hair, and some of the tension slowly leaves his body. After a few minutes he is fully relaxed and asleep, and Dean gently slides out from under him and goes to take a shower.

*

After DBT group, where they go over emotional regulation, Dean stops Sam once the room is empty.

“I'm sorta with Cas,” he says with no preamble.

The bitchface he gets is unexpected and uncalled for. “Really, Dean? You're not here to hook up.”

“First of all, I never actually agreed to that. Second, it's not like that. It's more than just a hookup. We haven't even had sex yet.” That was maybe TMI, but he wants Sam to understand what's going on.

His brother doesn't look any less annoyed with him.

“What?”

Sam looks around and then lowers his head down from the stratosphere and closer to Dean's. “I heard he's still using heroin.”

Dean backs up instead of giving into the urge of physically shoving Sam away. “Believe everything you hear?”

“Well, Ava said—”

Dean cuts him off. “ _Ava_? The woman who hides her engagement ring so she can sleep around?”

“But—”

“And even if he is, what,” he pokes Sam's chest, “all drug addicts are bad?” It's a personal jab, Dean knows, but he feels a protective need to defend Cas.

“I didn't say that. I just want you to be careful, that's all.”

Dean is glaring so hard he thinks he might bore holes right through his brother's skull. At least that would teach him to stop being such a goddamn drama queen.

“Don't worry, Sammy, we're being real careful. We don't even share needles.”

Sam groans and runs his fingers through his hair. “This isn't _funny_ , Dean.”

“And I'm not laughing. I don't know why I thought I could talk to you about this.” Dean turns to leave but Sam grabs his arm.

“Wait.”

Dean shrugs him off and doesn't bother looking at the apologetic puppy eyes his brother is most likely giving him.

“Don't you have gossip to catch up on?” He leaves before he gets a response.

*

By the time everyone gathers in the rec room for the first _Lord of the Rings_ movie both Dean and Sam are past their argument. Sam doesn't treat Cas any differently and even chooses him to be on his team when they play Taboo after wrap-up group. And they're fucking _drift compatible_ , completely destroying Dean and Andy.

The best part is that all night, Meg and Ava were back in whatever dark holes they inhabit and away from Cas.

Saturday December 6th

Dean makes it his personal goal in cooking class to sexually frustrate Castiel as much as possible within the limits of what is publicly acceptable. He pushes those limits, _a lot_ , judging by the exasperated looks and the “Will you two just get a room already?” from Ellen.

The thing is, Dean didn't even start the whole thing. It was all Cas, who out of the blue grabbed Dean's hand and, as obscenely as possible, sucked cupcake batter off of two of his fingers. He's been driving Dean up the walls ever since the morning of their fight, so it's only fair that Castiel gets a taste of his own medicine.

It's not much, considering their location, but for now Dean is doing what he can. He's pressing up against Cas' back while he's stirring batter, hands on his hipbones just under the hem of his shirt. When no one's watching he's pressing kisses all over his neck and on that spot behind Castiel's ear that Dean recently discovered is very sensitive. Cas drops the whisk several times and there is a faint blush staining his cheeks, and Dean is having a great time getting him all flustered like this.

Castiel's cupcakes turn out terribly, and Dean pretends to have no idea why.

*

When Castiel sees Anna he hugs her tight, then pecks a quick kiss on her rounded belly. She looks beautiful like this, and now he knows what people mean when they say that pregnant women have a glow to them.

“It's a boy,” she tells him with a bright smile on her face as they sit down at a booth. “I hope you've discharged by the time he comes, I need someone whose hand I can break through the labor pains.”

“You know I'll be by your side if I can.” He highly doubts he'll be out of here by then, though. Drug use aside, he doesn't feel like he's made much progress. Missouri tells him that he has, though, but he still has a long way to go. He is still plagued by so many nightmares and he can't do anything more than kiss Dean. It doesn't help that he's being blackmailed into returning to the hellhole he calls home. At least he will have a brand new baby to look forward to, even if that child has to grow up in that terrible place.

Anna's expression quickly falls from proud to grave. “Listen, Castiel, I need to talk to you about something."

“Anything, sister.”

She starts tapping her fingers on the table, a gesture Castiel recognizes as a nervous habit of hers. “Were you telling the truth? About Zachariah?”

Just hearing that name causes his stomach to twist with anxiety and his breathing to quicken. “Of course. I wouldn't lie about something like that.”

“I didn't think you would. It's just... This is very difficult to tell you.”

Castiel feels his stomach go from knotting to plummeting to the floor at the thought of what he thinks she's about to tell him.

“Oh my God, please don't tell me... not you, too.”

Anna's face flushes and she looks down at the table top, flicking away a crumb. “It's his child.”

“God damn it.” Castiel slams his fist down on the table, rattling it and causing his sister to jump.

She laughs quietly. “You startled the baby.”

Castiel tries to get his anger under control, not wanting to cause a scene and bring over Charlie. “I'm sorry. I just thought that I couldn't hate the asshole any more than I already did. But I've never felt this level of rage before.” Anna may be the older sibling, but Castiel has always been protective of her. He feels like throwing things, breaking things, breaking _Zachariah_ until they dental records to identify the body. “This is so much worse than anything he's ever done to me. And now you're pregnant and—”

Anna raises and hand out to stop him. “This child is not a curse. He's the only good thing to come out of what he's done to me.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Just you, me, and Zachariah. Please let it stay that way.”

“Of course. I'll always be here to support you, I hope you know that.”

“Yes, I do. Thank you, Castiel.”

The rest of the visit is sombre. They try to make small talk, and it's not necessarily awkward, but a heavy weight settled in between them after Anna's confession. Castiel hugs her for longer than he normally does when it's time for her to leave.

After getting checked in with the nurse he heads back to his room, needing to stop feeling as quickly as possible.

*

Cas barely talks after visiting hours, and when Dean asks what's wrong he says that it's nothing, voice dull. He doesn't eat any popcorn and is completely silent while they watch the second _Lord of the Rings_ movie, even though he was talking Dean's ear off with his commentary during the first one, which would have driven Dean crazy if it were anyone else but Cas.

When the movie's over he gets his meds and goes straight to bed without a single word to Dean.


	15. Chapter 15

Tuesday December 10th  
(4 weeks into Dean and Sam's treatment)

Dean cringes as he slides his foot into the old, sweaty, worn-out shoe. The whole bowling alley looks sketchy, and he thinks he may have heard something on the news once about a child being abducted here, but this was the outing that won the vote.

Meg unfortunately crashes their team, which consisted of Dean, Cas, Sam, and Andy. The four men talk as the unwelcome guest (well, Castiel doesn't seem to mind in the slightest) types in their names in the little machine thingie.

They really shouldn't have left her in charge of it, because when Dean looks up their names are “Clarence” for Cas, “Moose,” presumably for Sam because he is the closest to moose size out of the five of them, and “Squirrel” must be Dean because the only other ones left are “Stoner” and “Queen.”

After that she goes and sits down _on Cas' lap_. Dean turns away, wanting to look at anything but the two of them as he seethes with jealousy. That's when he sees the bar.

It would be so easy to order a drink and have the bartender put it in a soda cup. It would only be a one-time thing and he wouldn't get completely drunk; he just wants something to take the edge off.

“I'm gonna go get a Coke.”

Before Dean can slink off to more well-known territories, Cas says, “I'll go get it with you.” Shit. He's onto him.

“You look pretty comfy there,” Dean tells him, words clipped.

Castiel pats Meg twice on the thigh but she makes no move to get up. “Deano is a big boy.” She winks at Dean. “He can handle himself.”

Sam is busy talking to Andy, probably about something smart and nerdy, but no doubt if he were listening he would be Team Cas all the way.

Meg is petite, so it doesn't take much for Castiel to remove her from his lap.

“Well I'm thirsty, too.” Which is probably a load of bullshit. “We can go together,” he says, linking arms with Dean.

So when they get to the bar Dean orders a soda and Cas gets some froofy iced coffee drink, which is surprising considering the quality of this establishment, and while they're waiting Dean can't help but say, “It's a little hypocritical that you feel the need to babysit me when you shoot up God knows how many times a day.” As soon as the words leave his mouth he regrets the venom in his tone.

Cas leans forward into Dean's face with a squint. “I'm doing this, Dean, because you asked me to. After I made the mistake of bringing you that gin. We poured it out and made a deal that I would never let you drink again. So here I am, not to babysit you, but to support you.” Castiel kisses him chastely on the lips. “Besides, you know we're breathalyzed after every outing.”

Oh yeah. Dean sorta forgot about that.

“Thanks, Cas. I really appreciate it.”

*

Dean's actually not too bad at bowling, considering it's his first time. He's better than Meg and Andy, but not as good as Sam, whose overgrown arms are probably giving him an advantage. But nobody is ahead of Cas, who, due to his broken arm, has to use one of those walker-looking ball ramp things usually intended for old people and children. The balls move at a glacial speed but manage to hit the center pins every time.

Shitty start aside, Dean actually enjoys himself. It's one of the reasons he doesn't want to leave after the game. The other reason is that he has an appointment with Missouri and he needs to go over that autobiography assignment he was supposed to do last week but skipped.

He really wishes he could have gotten that drink.

*

It's nerve-wracking, being the center of attention while you pour out the details of your life to be analyzed and processed. And the Neurontin he took half an hour ago doesn't seem to be doing anything for his anxiety.

Still, with a little prompting, he talks. He talks about his mother and the fire and how it changed his father. He talks about moving from motel to motel, about the military training and the life he and Sam lived before Bobby took them in. He talks about having his first drink at the age of thirteen. He talks about about him and Sam disappointing their father and the fatal car crash. Dean even talks about the only two serious relationships he's ever had, both of them wrecking him and leaving him feeling broken. He talks to Missouri about the drinking and the one night stands that never could quite fill the emptiness he felt. And finally, he tells her about Cas and how he stopped him from drinking at the bowling alley, to which she responds by saying she's going to bake Castiel some cookies and then beat Dean with the spoon she used to stir the batter.

Their session goes on all the way through both free time and dinner, so Missouri tells him to take a lanyard to the cafeteria and have Ash put something together for him to eat.

“Send Castiel in here on your way out, too.”

Dean gladly leaves the emotionally draining room with the ominous wooden spoons behind and goes to find Cas.

*

Castiel knows he's going to have nightmares tonight. They're always so much worse, so much more vivid after sessions, especially rough ones like the one he just came from, which induced a flashback that took Missouri fifteen minutes to bring him out of.

He got a Klonopin from Pam, but it won't be enough. He needs something much stronger.

As soon as he opens the bedroom door he makes a beeline for the bathroom, but Dean is quicker, blocking the door.

“ _Dean_.”

Castiel waits for a rant, a lecture, a scolding, anything other than Dean grabbing him and wrapping his arms around him, burying his face in Cas' hair.

“You don't need it."

Castiel knows he has good intentions, but Dean doesn't know how he’s is feeling right now, like he can't breathe and his head is spinning and his stomach is churning with anxiety. No hug can cure that, so he pushes him away.

“I didn't ask for your help,” he says, and he walks past Dean and into the bathroom.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so major warning for this one. There is sort of-infidelity in this chapter involving non-explicit Castiel/Meg. It's not intentionally harmful, it's just Cas being a dumbass and not knowing what Dean wants between the two of them. It will be resolved shortly, I promise. Please don't hate me.

Thursday December 11th

Dean just gets back from AA when he hears moaning coming from the bathroom. But isn't Cas still at the hospital getting his cast removed? He must have gotten back early and is finally getting some use out of his right hand. But then he hears something else, a, “Cas,” said by a woman and Dean's heart crashes to the floor. He's a horrible mix of infuriated and crushed when he swings open the door and sees Meg on the counter, legs wrapped around Castiel as he pounds into her.

Suddenly he's back on that day with Cassie, the day he took off of work to buy a ring and came home to a situation much like the one he's witnessing now.

“Um, hello, Dean.” Castiel says, as if he didn't just tear Dean's heart out of his chest and spit on it, and... run it over with a semi truck or something equally painful. “I'm sorry, we would have used Meg's bathroom but Bela has the stomach flu.”

Dean directs his rage at Meg first, who's wearing a practiced look of innocence.

“You,” Dean points at her. “Get. Out.”

Meg smirks at him and shrugs, hopping off of the counter that now needs a thorough disinfecting and possibly an exorcism, pulling on her underwear and jeans.

“You can have him, Deano. He's a great lay but he's damaged goods.” She saunters out of the room and Dean has never before in his life wanted to hit a woman until now. Partially for insulting Cas, who he now had no reason to feel protective of.

“Now I'll have to pay for my Adderall,” Castiel says as he rolls off the condom (thank God he used one) and tosses it in the trash.

“What the fuck, Cas?” Dean yells, fighting the urge to punch the mirror that bitch was just pressed up against.

Castiel jumps at his words and looks at him with an angry glare that he has absolutely no right to wear. “Why are you yelling?”

“Put some goddamn pants on first, I can't take you seriously when you're half naked.”

As Cas moves closer to him to pick up his jeans he sees a bright red hickey blooming on his neck, and it ignites a whole new fire inside of Dean.

When Cas is fully clothed Dean starts again at top volume. “You won't even touch me but you'll fuck her? Is this more of your born-and-raised straight-laced Christian bullshit?”

“It's not that, Dean.”

“Then what is it? Would you be more interested if I had some pills for you to whore yourself out for?”

The right hook comes out of nowhere and sends Dean reeling back into the counter, hitting his head on the mirror. For a moment he's worried about Cas' newly-healed arm before he tells himself _don't care, he deserves it_. Dean clutches his cheekbone where Castiel's fist made impact, _hard_.

“What the fuck was that for?”

“I don't like that word,” Castiel replies, glowering.

“Well _sorry_ ,” Dean bites out sarcastically. “It's not like I didn't just get betrayed so that you could get your drug fix or anything.”

“Betrayed?”

“Yeah, Cas. What you just fucking did to me." And then he says something completely chick-flick worthy, but it's the truth. "I thought we _had_ something.”

“We do have something," Cas says, looking and sounding confused. "But it's not like we're in a relationship or anything.”

“Weren't we?”

Dean feels like such an idiot. All this time he thought he meant something to Cas, that he was more than just a notch in his bedpost.

Cas' face falls at Dean's words and his eyes widen. “Dean—”

“No. I don't wanna hear it. I was stupid to think you cared about us.”

“Dean, please—”

Castiel's eyes get misty, but Dean figures it's probably just for show.

“Get out. Go to Meg, or Bela, or anyone else you're screwing and come back in an hour. My stuff will be out of here.”

Castiel gives him a futile attempt at the puppy dog eyes, this time complete with crocodile tears. He's good, but Dean knows better, so he just glares until Cas leaves the room.

It takes two trips but only fifteen minutes to move all of his possessions from his room to Sam and Andy's. Colt follows him in, lying down on top of Dean on his makeshift bed on the floor and licking his face. Dean runs his fingers through the dog's soft fur, trying to push away the images of his ex-almost-fiance with her coworker and his ex-apparently-not-anything with Meg. He fails miserably, but least he manages to stop any tears before they spill over.

It isn't long before Sam shows up, running into the room like there's a fucking fire or something. “What happened?”

“Whatever do you mean, dear brother?” Dean says with as much snark as he can manage giving his misery.

“Cas is a mess in the group room with Sarah, and I go back to your room and all your stuff is gone and you're in here and—what happened to your face?”

Dean sighs, trying to decide whether or not to spill the remnants of his heart out to his brother, who will probably make a huge deal out of this, which Dean is already doing mentally.

“Cas happened to my face.”

“He _hit_ you?”

Dean laughs, a delirious response to the labyrinth of emotions he's trying to find his way out of. “That's not all he did.”

Sam sits down on the floor across from him, running his fingers through his hair that probably took hours and a whole bottle of L'Oreal product to perfect. “Will you stop being so cryptic and tell me what the hell happened?”

Dean knows that his brother is nothing if not persistent, so he he resigns to give into his nagging.

“I caught Cas and Meg together.”

Sam's eyebrows make a break for his hairline.

“Words were said, Cas punched me, and apparently thought we were just fuck buddies or something, even though there was absolutely no actual fucking going on."

Dean watches the disbelief in Sam's eyes before rolling his own.

“But Cas seemed to really like you. Like, _a lot_.”

“Apparently not as much as he likes getting drugs from Meg.” Dean waits for the “I told you so, I warned you about him” but it never comes.

Instead, he says, “I'm so sorry, Dean. You can stay in here as long as you want. I'm sure Andy won't mind.

“Thanks, Sammy.”

*

Dean stays in their room for the rest of the day and falls asleep with Colt curled up next to him, and for the first time in years he dreams about Cassie.

Friday December 12th  
(7 weeks into Castiel's treatment)

Dean is wallowing in his anger and self-pity when there is a gentle tapping at the door.

“Come in,” Dean calls out, even though he's really not in the mood to talk to anybody.

It's Charlie who enters the room, and she's not looking her bright, cheery self.

“Hey,” Dean says as she sits down across from him on the floor.

“Hey yourself.” Charlie's quiet for a moment, and then she asks, “You wanna tell me why you aren't coming to groups? Or why you're not sitting with Castiel at meals? And while you're at it would you like to explain why you're holed up in Andy and Sam's room, hoarding Colt, and sporting a pretty impressive shiner?”

Dean doesn't particularly want to go through this story for the third time (Missouri already ambushed him yesterday), but he likes the BHA, and there's something about her caring tone that has him repeating it, tweaking it around so that she doesn't know about the whole drug thing. He's hurt and pissed off, but he's not that big of an asshole.

“I think you should talk to him,” Charlie says, patting his knee. “Try to work things out.”

“I don't think he wants to work things out. He looked pretty damn content with Meg.”

The BHA gives Dean a weak smile. “I've seen how he looks at you, Dean. Like you hung the moon. He doesn't look at Meg that way, or anyone else.”

This is news to Dean, but it doesn't instill even the slightest amount of hope in his heart. “I guess.”

“Just think about it, okay?”

“Alright,” Dean tells her, because she's trying to do what's best for him, he knows that much.

Charlie stands up and extends her hands, pulling Dean up when he grabs them. “Come on, your brother told me to get you out of here. They're playing Halo,” she says. “Cas went to bed,” Charlie adds.

So Dean gets out of his hiding place and plays in the rec room with Sam and Andy, and they all get their asses handed to them on a silver platter by Charlie. It's fine, though, because the whole time they're playing Dean doesn't have a single thought about Cas

Saturday December 13 th

Sam comes back from visiting in a better mood than Dean has ever seen him in since Ellen took him to Disneyland when he was six.

“Who was it?” Dean asks, curious as to who would visit his brother but not him.

“It was Jess,” Sam says with a smile that nearly reaches his ears.

“Jess from Stanford, Jess?”

“She flew all the way from California just to visit me.”

Wow. Just... wow. “Way to go, Sammy. You two together now?”

“I think so. She kissed me before she left.”

Dean doesn't even have it in him to tease his brother about this; the whole situation is actually pretty sweet.

Still, he gets a bitter taste in his mouth. “At least one of us is happy with someone.”

Sam puts his hands on his hips like the oversized diva he is. “You know what, Dean? Enough.” Dean didn't expect his unnecessarily harsh tone. “ What happened sucks, I know. But you need to get a grip. Stop sulking and skipping groups to avoid Cas. You were doing so well before this. Don't let one person ruin the progress you've made.”

But Castiel wasn't just “one person” to Dean. He was _important_ to him. And that didn't matter.

“Fine. Whatever.”

So Dean goes to wrap-up group later that night and tries to ignore stupid Cas and his stupid hickey and his stupid pitiful glances that he's probably been practicing in the mirror to perfect and the stupid hollow feeling in Dean's chest where Castiel ripped a piece of it out. He doesn't succeed.

Monday December 15th 

Monday is not a fun day.

In process group Lily talks about her alcohol addiction. She tells them about her girlfriend she dated for four years before Lily drove them home from a bar drunk. Lily only broke her arm, but her girlfriend was killed on impact. Colt lays his head in her lap through her tear-filled, tragic story, and Garth stays with her in the group room after everyone leaves.

Then Chuck discharges. Dean wasn't too close to him, but he was a cool guy when he was himself and it was fun to play games with him.

The only good part of the day is when a new resident arrives, Kevin, who got addicted to amphetamine he used to stay up late studying and then had a mental break right before a big test. He's a nice kid who plays Xbox with him after wrap-up group, which is pretty fun.

Aside from that, Dean spent most of the day in a haze of depression, and it _sucked_.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read tags for warnings.

Tuesday December 16th 

“I know what you did to my brother.” Sam stares at Castiel accusingly. He doesn't even know how Cas convinced him to sit in this booth with him, but he did.

“I care about Dean. A lot.”

Sam huffs out a laugh. “You sure have an odd way of showing it.”

“I didn't know.”

“That's what Dean said you told him.”

Castiel props up his elbow and drops his chin into his hand sullenly. Sam tries not to feel bad, for his brother's sake.

“He never made it clear what he wanted for us.”

“I think it was pretty fucking obvious, Cas.”

He watches as his Dean's former roommate looks down at the table and starts fidgeting with his sweater sleeve.

“I suppose I'm not very good at reading people.” Cas gives him a pitiful frown, complete with huge eyes, a look he's sure was used on Dean after The Incident.

“What do I do?”

Sam considers telling him to give up, to stay the hell away from Dean before he hurts him any more, because his brother's had more than enough pain in his life and he deserves to be happy. But then he thinks that maybe Cas is what's going to make him happy. Cas seems upset enough by the whole turn of events, maybe he's genuinely sorry. Sam decides to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“You could start by apologizing.”

“I tried.”

“Try again,” Sam says. “Dean's stubborn. He's going to need to hear it more than once. Prove to him that you mean it. He's crazy about you, I know that. At least try to be on civil terms again.”

“I'm going to make things right, Sam,” Cas says with a look of sheer determination.

“Yeah, you'd better.”

And then Sam takes his tray and moves to sit with a wary and suspicious-looking Dean.

*

Dean is just leaving the med line when Castiel approaches him.

“Dean.”

“What do you want?” Dean snaps.

“To talk to you. Please.”

Against his better judgment Dean follows Cas to his room. They sit down on what used to be his bed, but now Cas' pillow and blankets are on it. Dean turns to face him and ask him something along the lines of, “What the hell?” but before he can get the words out there lips pressed against his.

Dean pushes Castiel away because no, that's not gonna cut it.

“Words, Cas. Use them.”

His Castiel sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I'm sorry I hit you.”

“That's all you're sorry for?” Because if that's all Cas has to say, he's leaving.

Castiel seems to sense his imminent departure, so he grabs Dean's shoulder. “No. No.” Dean glares at Cas' hand until it is removed hastily. “I just thought I'd start small.” He fumbles with the hem of his sweater, not meeting Dean's eyes. “I'm sorry for sleeping with Meg. But Dean, I didn't know.”

Jesus Christ. “'You didn't know?' You thought we were, what, friends with benefits? Without any actual sex?”

“Well, yes.”

Dean rolls his eyes, which Cas doesn't see because he won't look at him. He just keeps playing with his stupid gray sweater that's too big on him and makes Dean want to do things like hold him and breathe in his scent and just–no. Because they're not like that. Dean thought they were, because that's how Dean treated Cas, and Cas didn't see it.

“Do friends with benefits hold you when you have a nightmare? Or kiss you without expecting anything more out of it? Or make you stupid crafts?” He gestures to the dreamcatcher, which has been moved over his former bed.

“That wasn't stupid,” Castiel says with a frown. “I was stupid. I didn't realize–I promise, Dean, I never would have done that if I did. I just thought... no one's ever wanted anything more than sex from me.”

“Well, I did.”

Cas finally looks up at him, and he has so much sincerity and hurt in his eyes that Dean feels his anger melt away just a little. “Did?”

“I still do.” Dean says the words without even taking a second to think twice about it.

There's a flicker of hope on Castiel's face before it disappears. “I'm fucked up, Dean. 'Damaged goods.'” Dean hates Meg more than he ever has, because Cas believes what she said.

“That's bullshit.”

Cas doesn't look any less upset.

“I don't know how to be in a relationship.”

Dean puts a hand on his back, wanting to offer comfort but not sure where they stand right at the moment.

“It's just like what we were doing before.” Then he adds, “Minus the sleeping around.” Dean clears his throat. “Obviously.”

Castiel nods at him, looking completely terrified, like one wrong word will push Dean away for good. “I would really like to try, if you'll let me. If you'll forgive me.” He looks up at Dean for a second, then down to his hands. His body is tensing to move, like he's waiting for rejection and wants to make a quick exit. “I know I don't deserve it.”

Dean feels a warmth in his chest where that near-empty chasm was just a few minutes ago. “I'm not exactly happy with you right now,” he says, because they need to be honest now. “But I forgive you. And I want to be with you, Cas.”

Castiel gets this soft, affectionate look on his face and moves forward slowly, looking at Dean's lips but not kissing them, probably expecting to get pushed away again, so Dean closes the distance for him.

It's a short, innocent kiss, and when they break apart Cas breathes out, “I missed you.”

“Is that why you've been sleeping in my bed?” Dean is amused when Castiel turns about five different shades of pink. “I'd like to sleep in it again.”

His former-ex-roommate/current-roommate/boyfriend? (yes, that sounds about right) pulls away from him and reaches for his pillow. “Of course, I'll move–”

“With you, Cas.”

“Oh.” He beams up at Dean with a smile that could end wars, or melt rainbows, or any other possible miraculous things Dean can think of. “I'd like that.”

*

“I'd like to take things further,” Cas says after sucking what will probably be a pretty impressive mark on Dean's neck and palming the bulge in his jeans.

Dean's brain isn't exactly firing on all cylinders at the moment, so Castiel is already on his knees by the time he manages a “Huh?”

His boyfriend is looking up at him with this smolder in his eyes that has his pants feeling even tighter. Cas reaches for the button. “Can I?”

Dean lets out a shaky breath. “If that's what you want.”

Castiel makes quick work of lowering Dean's pants and boxers to around his thighs and then just fucking goes for it, taking in as much of Dean's cock as he can and gripping the base.

He starts out slowly, but the things he does with his tongue are pro-level and have Dean moaning in seconds. It's well worth all of the waiting and the teasing and the cold showers. It's warmth and heat and suction and Dean has to strain to keep his hips still as the rhythm increases.

“Fuck, Cas. So good, baby.”

Dean can feel Castiel smile as he moans around his cock, sending sparks dancing through his entire body, and he thrusts up into Cas' mouth. He doesn't mean to, and Cas chokes a little, pulling off with wide eyes, making Dean feel guilty for losing control like that.

“I'm sorry.” It's Cas who apologizes first, making Dean feel even worse. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he says hastily, looking at the floor and shaking his head. It makes Dean feel nauseous.

“Cas, it's fine. It happens. A lot," Dean assures him. "It was my fault, anyways.”

“I'm sorry,” he repeats.

“Look at me.” Dean reaches down to touch Castiel's face, to tilt his head up and make him meet his eyes, and Cas flinches. He pulls his hand away, shocked.

“Jesus, I'm not going to hurt you.” Dean knows there was some sort of physical abuse in Castiel's past, but he didn't imagine that whatever asshole Cas was with before would hit him for something like this.

“Are you okay?”

Cas finally looks up at him. “Yes, I'm okay.” He grips Dean's knees and leans forward to take him in his mouth again.

“Cas, don't.”

Castiel's expression falls into one you'd expect to see on a child whose dog was just run over by a car. It's pitiful and physically hurts Dean.

“I've ruined this.”

“No, you didn't ruin anything. But this is supposed to be something with both enjoy. You're upset, and it wouldn't sit right with me.”

“I don't want to stop,” Cas says. “Finally being with you feels good.”

Dean looks down and sees through Castiel's sweatpants that he's still half-hard, and decides to not leave him unsatisfied, he own erection be damned.

“Then come up here and lie down.”

Cas does, and he pulls Dean down for a kiss.

“Relax,” Dean tells him. “Let me take care of you.”

Their mouths meet again, gentle but sultry, and Dean reaches down and slides a hand under Cas' shirt, rubbing circles on his hipbone with his thumb and feeling goosebumps rising under his fingers. He takes it slow, just kissing his boyfriend's lips and neck, strategically avoiding Meg's hickey, making sure Cas has calmed down enough to move elsewhere. A graze over the front of Castiel's pants tells Dean that he's fully hard. Cas pushes into his hand, and he takes that as a go sign.

Dean scoots down the bed and presses his lips to the fabric covering Castiel's cock, which is already damp with precome. This earns him a shaky gasp. He doesn't want to tease, so he hooks his fingers under the waistband of his sweats, pulls them down, and discovers that Cas isn't wearing any underwear, which is fine by Dean. The less layers, the better.

Then he asks that awkward question that nobody wants to ask.

“Do I, uh, need a condom?”

Castiel shakes his head. “Pamela tested me when I got here and I've been using them ever since.”

Okay, good. Dean hates the taste of latex and blowjobs never feel as good through condoms.

He kisses the base first, then slowly trails his tongue up to the head, flicking across the slit before taking it down all the way. Cas groans and puts his hands in Dean's hair, not pulling or guiding, just running fingers through it gently as Dean hollows out his cheeks and sucks hard, swirling his tongue around the tip every few strokes. He tries to give as good as he got, and by the obscene noises Cas is making and the way he's white-knuckling the comforter, he's not doing half bad.

Castiel has to be the most responsive person Dean's ever been with, gasping and moaning and chanting “God” and “Dean” like some sort of blasphemous prayer, and it's doing all sorts of things to his libido, leaving him rock hard and grinding against the bed for some sort of relief.

If Cas is getting this worked up over a blow job, Dean wonders how quickly he could get him to come with a finger or two in him. He pulls off for a second to suck on one before taking in his boyfriend's cock again. As Castiel's hips start twitching off the bed a little, not quite thrusting, Dean reaches past his perineum and ghosts a finger over his hole.

In the blink of an eye Castiel is out from under him and climbing back until his back is against the wall and his knees are pulled to his chest, just like Dean has seen him after a nightmare.

“Shit, Cas, I'm sorry. I should have asked I–” And then everything hits him like ten tons of bricks. He's been so stupid. All of the signs come flooding toward him at once. The hesitancy toward physical contact with Dean, when he was fine sleeping with women. The nightmares and flashbacks filled with “no” and “stop” and “Zachariah.” Cas panicking after choking during oral. Dean thought it was an amalgamation of religious brainwashing and physical abuse. But he was so very wrong. He was such an idiot to not put it all together. And now he's gone and fucking triggered Cas, who _trusted_ him.

“Cas, talk to me, please.”

He gets a, “No. Stop,” in reply.

“I did. No more, okay? I'm not going to touch you.”

Cas' whole body is shaking and he's pulling at his hair. “Please don't.” His eyes are closed but tears are squeezed out and roll down his cheeks, and Dean finds his own are wet.

“Listen to me, Cas. He's not here. You're safe. It's just you and me, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for scaring you, I wasn't thinking.” He's babbling now, and he's not even sure if Castiel can hear him, but he needs to try to get through to him. “I'm not like him, okay? I just didn't realize what you were going through, and I won't do it again. Just come back to me, try to breathe.”

When Cas doesn't show any signs of coming out of it, Dean runs to the kitchen for a frozen orange. As soon as he steps out and into the lounge, Ash and Garth are standing in front of him.

“What's going on, compadre?” Ash asks.

“Cas is having a flashback.”

“Do you need our help?”

“No,” Dean answers too quickly. There's no way in hell he's letting anyone, even someone with good intentions, see Cas with his pants pulled down to his knees.

“Are you sure?” Garth asks kindly.

“Thanks. Really. But I got this.”

It's true, he has gotten pretty good at dealing with these episodes, being able to bring Cas back to the present and calm him down without needing a BHA to get involved. Though, Dean's never been the cause of one before, and the resulting guilt is tearing at his heart.

Castiel is in almost the same position as he was when Dean left him, but now his head is buried in his knees. He's muttering words every few seconds.

“Cas, I'm just going to touch your hand, okay? I'm gonna give you something to hold.”

Castiel jumps when Dean touches him, but lets his hand be pulled away from where it's gripping strands of his hair. Dean presses the orange into his palm and Cas jerks back.

“Cold.”

He's acknowledging it, which is always a good sign.

“I know, but I need you to hold on and focus on it.” He grabs Cas' hand again and wraps his fingers around the orange. “Focus on how it feels and listen to my voice. This is what's happening right now, not what you're seeing.”

Dean talks him through it for several minutes, tears falling freely, trying to push aside the agony and rage in his heart because he knows what Cas is feeling is so much worse. It takes some time but eventually he lifts his head and looks around. He's still shaking and crying and he looks a little confused, but he's back, and Dean lets out a breath of relief.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas. It's just me.”

Castiel pushes away from the wall and wraps his arms around Dean.

“God, I'm so sorry. I caused this. I knew you'd been through serious shit, but I never even thought about sexual abuse, fuck, I'm sorry."

Cas sniffles and Dean hands him a tissue from the box they've started keeping on the bedside shelf.

“It's not your fault. I should have explained. I will. Explain, that is.”

Dean squeezes him and buries his face in Castiel's hair. “Talk to me, please. What happened to you?”

Cas pulls away and looks at him, moving his shoulders in a way that's almost a shrug. “Life.”

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas' history. Read tags for warnings.

“C'mere,” Dean says, leaning against the wall. Castiel curls up against him, resting his head on Dean's chest. This is going to be difficult, so difficult, but at least he has warm arms around him, a steady heartbeat under his ear, and comforting fingers running through his hair, something they recently discovered is a sure-fire way to calm his nerves, if only just a little.

“I suppose I should start from the beginning.” He takes a few deep, grounding breaths, focusing on the way the air travels in through his nose, cools his throat, expands his lungs, and then travels out his mouth.

“Cas, you don't need to if it's going to be too hard,” Dean says, although Cas knows how curious he must be. “I just want to know you better. Know what not to do or say. I don't want to trigger you, or get punched again.”

The word whore rings clear as a bell in his head but not in Dean's voice. Zachariah's.

Focus. Castiel is with Dean now. Dean, his lover, who doesn't want to hurt him.

“He always calls me his little whore,” Cas whispers, trying to resist the pull of the darkness of his memories.

“Zachariah?”

Cas actually flinches at the name.

“Yes. He's the reverend and leader of the Garrison.” He can feel his body start to shake again. Dean clearly notices.

“Cas, I've got you, okay? He's not here. You're safe with me.”

There's a warmth in Castiel's chest that starts to melt away some of the icy terror that has been spreading since he tried giving Dean head. His boyfriend has been so caring and understanding and not running away from the train wreck that Cas knows he is. He can do this. He trusts Dean. He's given so much, and after the way Castiel treated him, Dean deserves the whole truth.

“It started when I was eleven.”

“Jesus, Cas.” Dean presses a kiss to the top of his head. Cas focuses on that for a moment before mustering up the courage to continue.

“He started bringing me into his office after church, telling my parents he saw potential in me for a position in the church. That he was going to mentor me.

“He would tell me that if I told anyone, he would come after Anna, and years later, Inias.

“The penetrative sex didn't start until I was fourteen, and that's when I told my best friend, Balthazar. Michael had warned me about him, told me that he was bad news, but I didn't listen. It hurt, a lot, when Zachariah would—” Castiel clears his throat. He never says the r word. “You know. Sometimes he didn't prep me at all, sometimes he wouldn't use lube, sometimes he wouldn't use either. Balthazar told me he had something that would make the pain more bearable.”

“Heroin,” Dean says.

“Heroin. I soon moved out of Gabriel's cabin and into Balthazar's.”

“Wait,” Dean tells him. “Why weren't you living with your parents?”

“My mom had 'better things to do.' than take care of her children. We're passed on to older siblings when she sees us as more trouble than cute.”

“What about your father?”

“He wasn't... what do you say? He didn't 'wear the pants' in the relationship. So Gabriel raised me until I moved in with Balthazar.

“At first I'd only shoot up before church. But then I got hooked and couldn't stop. It became once a day, then several times a day. So I started working at a restaurant under the table, since I was just fifteen, to be able to afford the drugs. That's when Inias was born, my little light in the darkness. I tried to quit then, to be a good role model, but after two days of withdrawal I said 'fuck it.'

“Then when I was sixteen Balthazar left, skipped out without any notice, because leaving is not allowed, and I was alone in the cabin. That’s when he—Zachariah,” Cas often has trouble saying his name; it tastes like ash in his mouth, “started making house calls.”

He feels tears running into his hair. “Please don't cry for me, Dean.” Castiel is already crying enough for the both of them. Knowing that Dean is so upset breaks something in him, and he feels his eyes water more freely.

“I can't—” Dean grabs a tissue for Cas, and then one for himself. “You're the last person who deserves to go through that. And you were so young.”

Castiel looks up at him and Dean presses their foreheads together.

“I'm sorry. You can go on, if you want.”

“I tried running away several times, but Gordon or Raphael, sometimes both, would always track me down. Each time they brought me back, Zachariah would tell me that if I weren't his pet he'd have me put down.”

Dean's crying harder now, Cas can feel it in the tremors in his chest, and Castiel feels so much pain for placing this heavy load on his shoulders.

“Dean?” Castiel rubs Dean's arm and presses a kiss to his collarbone.

“Don't worry about me, Cas. Please.”

That's not going to happen, and he reaches up and wipes away some of Dean's tears with the sleeve of his sweater.

“Stop, please,” Dean says, taking his turn to dry Castiel's cheeks. “This is about you, okay?”

“Okay,” Cas says, even though he's still very concerned about his story's effect on his lover.

“When I was eighteen I took Inias in. He was three; far too young to be dealing with my nightmares and flashbacks. God, I even hit him during one. I stopped trying to run away, then, because Michael and Anna were in school and Gabriel had been shunned. I didn't trust anyone else to care for my brother. He needed me, someone to love him and care for him and not force bullshit rules and religion down his throat. I wanted him to be accepted for who he was.

“I thought at least the assaults would slow down, but it didn't. Zachariah would buy him new toys to keep him busy or send him off with other kids. Then he started getting more violent, but he never left marks where anyone could see. Even with the girls I slept with, I always kept a shirt on. Partially because of the marks, and partially because having all my clothes off makes me feel...”

“Vulnerable?” Dean suggests.

“Yes, that's about right. Zachariah said that I deserved it, that I was a worthless junkie—he'd noticed the track marks years before. It just kept getting worse.

"Then, two years later, my father packed his bags and left the Garrison. The next day, Gordon left, too. After two days he came back, took me into the office of the church, threw my father's pocket watch onto the table and told me to let that be a lessen. 'Nobody gets an out.' I knew that my father was dead.”

Dean takes a breath like he's about to say something but stays silent.

“Over the next four years the incidences got more frequent, more violent, more painful, and more humiliating. Burying myself in women and drugs wasn't cutting it, not that it ever really had. So I decided to make one last big break for it, packing up Inias' things, too. My dealer knew a guy who did government issued documents. We got new names, new birth certificates, and passports. We made it to Ontario before there was a knock at our motel room door. It was Gordon and Raphael. I don't know how the hell they found us, I was so careful. Next thing I knew there was a rag over my face and I woke up in the back of a van, Gordon sitting with me with a gun. Inias was still out cold, and I thought that maybe they dosed him too high. I've never been more terrified in my life.”

Castiel's tears have stopped, having been replaced by that numb, hollow feeling he sometimes gets when he talks about his history, when he's not having a flashback or an anxiety attack.

“I shook him and shook him and finally he woke up. He was scared and confused and asked why the bad men had taken us. All I could do was hold him and apologize over and over until my voice was cracking. I wanted to be strong for him, to not let him see me cry.

“We stayed the night in a dingy motel. I had to kill two cockroaches before Inias could brush his teeth. He slept curled up to me while Gordon and Raphael took shifts guarding us. And then we were home sweet home again.

“Raphael brought Inias to Naomi's cabin and Gordon dragged me kicking and screaming to Zachariah's office. He kicked me and punched me where no one could see, as usual, and when he... forced himself on me, he broke my arm.

“Then he rang the bell for a community meeting. Everyone in the Garrison was there, and Zachariah announced that the runaways had been 'found and returned to the flock.' Everyone applauded. As soon as he left the podium I got up. I told the entire community quickly what he had done to me. Raphael pulled me off the stage before I could go into any details and Zachariah stepped back up to the microphone, telling everyone that I was a delusional, atheist drug addict and that I was telling lies to excuse myself for taking Inias and running. He said it was a desperate cry for attention, to victimize myself after living such a hedonistic lifestyle. Some of the members laughed. Everyone bought into the lies their leader was feeding them.”

“What terrible people,” Dean says with so much sympathy in his voice.

“I was humiliated, defenseless, and alone. That was my breaking point. I couldn't live like that anymore. When Raphael escorted me back to my cabin I lost it. I screamed, broke things, and then opened up my stash and injected it all. I woke up in a hospital four hours later, scared and disappointed. Apparently Anna found me. The doctors pumped me full of something called Narcon. Threw a wrench in the plan.

“I'm so glad it did,” Dean tells him, holding Cas tightly.

“I still have to go back,” Cas says. “They said if I don't return they'll turn me in to the police for kidnapping.”

“That's bullshit. There's gotta be something we can do. Go to the police with everything you just told me.”

“You think they're going to believe me? Nobody else in the Garrison did. I'm an unstable drug addict, and Zachariah is a reverend. And I'd honestly prefer prison to being a prisoner in my own home. But I don't want to leave Inias or Anna. Anna just recently told me that she's been through the same thing as I have, even though Zachariah told me years ago that he wouldn't touch her if I complied... but I ran away so many times, and now she's pregnant with his baby, and it's my fault because I ran away—” Cas hadn't realized until now, and suddenly it feels like his lungs are constricting and his heart is racing because he did this to her.

“Cas, stop.” Castiel barely hears him over the sound of blood rushing through his ears. “Don't you dare take the blame for what that sadistic freak did to her.”

But that's not true, this is because of him, and he's suddenly being flooded with sick images of his sister being raped and his chest is getting too tight and his vision is blurring and—

“Cas, baby, stay with me. Try to breath.” Castiel tries to inhale but ends up choking. “Come on, deep breaths.”

The voice becomes faint and he's now tied to a chair in Zachariah's office, hearing Anna scream and not being able to help her as Zachariah smiles at him.

“Cas, come back.”

Neither Zachariah nor Anna is speaking, so Cas has no idea where the voice is coming from. He looks around, trying to find a fourth person, but there is no one.

“Eyes on me,” Zachariah says as he pushes Anna to her knees.

“Cas, open your eyes. Look at me. I'm right here, there's no one else,” the mysterious man tells him.

But Castiel's eyes are open, witnessing this horror as his sister is about to be violated.

“Stop, please. Don't touch her. Take me.”

And then he feels cold on the palm of his hand. It doesn't make sense; his hands are strapped to the armrests of the chair; there's nothing but leather under them.

“You're safe, Cas. It's not real. Focus on the cold.”

He does, listens to the soothing voice as he closes his eyes, right as Zachariah is undoing his belt. When he opens them again he is somewhere else entirely. And he's lying down on someone. Castiel jumps off of the bed and backs up, hitting the backs of his knees on another bed and falling on to it.

“Hey, easy, easy. It's just me. Dean.” The man who was just holding him has the same voice that Castiel heard in Zachariah's office. His head is pounding with confusion because this man must of taken him away, but he doesn't remember any of it, so he must have been drugged, and he feels like he's going to be sick. Cas sees a door to his right that he guesses may be the bathroom. He stumbles off the bed toward it, but the man blocks his way.

“Wait, don't.” He looks at Castiel with these pleading green eyes that Cas seems to know.

“I don't know who you are, or where you've brought me, but you're about to be covered in vomit.”

The man's eyes widen. “Oh, right. Come in.”

Castiel has no idea why this man follows him into the bathroom but he sees him grab something from a drawer—his heroin bag.

“Hey—” That's his, and this asshole has no right to take it from him.

“No, Cas. Sorry.”

And then the door is closed and Castiel is heaving into the toilet.

*

Dean puts on some calming music while Cas is in the bathroom, hoping it will be grounding and soothing. It usually helps a little. He hears the toilet being flushed and the sounds of Cas brushing his teeth before the door is opened and Castiel sits down on the empty bed, staring at him warily.

“I know you.”

“Yeah, you know me. I'm Dean.”

Cas tilts his head and squints at him. “You're my roommate here at...”

“Riverside, rehab. And I'm a little more than just your roommate.”

His eyes light up a little at that. “Is that why I want to kiss you?”

Dean laughs. “Probably. Or it could just be my charm and incredibly good looks.”

That actually coaxes a small smile out of Cas. “Can I kiss you?”

As much as Dean would like that, his boyfriend barely recognizes him right now. “When you're less confused, you can kiss me all you want.”

Castiel's brow furrows. “Why am I so confused? And anxious?”

“You were dissociating. You went someplace bad, and now you need to re-orient yourself.”

“Someplace bad,” Cas echoes. Then his eyes widen dramatically. “Oh my God, Anna.”

He jumps off the bed and Dean stands in front of him, stopping him from making a break for God knows where and causing a code green.

“Relax, Cas. Breathe. It wasn't real. Whatever you saw, it wasn't happening.”

“It didn't—but I saw—he had her—”

“It was just in your head. I promise, I was right here with you.”

It's tearing Dean to pieces seeing him like this, frantic and protective and guilty. Dean only managed to stop crying and get himself together while Cas was in the bathroom, throwing up, which sucked, but it was better than the alternative of pumping his bloodstream full of opiates.

Castiel takes a few deep breaths, eyes closed, before grabbing Dean's hand. “You brought me out of there. I don't know how to thank you.” He looks at Dean's lips and leans forward just as Dean leans back.

“Do you know who I am?”

Cas' mouth quirks up on one side into a half smile. “You're Dean Winchester. And you're my boyfriend.”

Dean chuckles at that. “Yeah, Cas, I'm your boyfriend.” It seems too teenager-y, but lover sounds so trashy romance novel with Fabio half-dressed on the cover, and what, partners? That makes them sound like buddy cops. And Cas is beaming at him with his blinding smile so it seems that he likes the terminology, and Dean wants nothing more than to see him back to normal after two intense dissociations, back to back. Dean can't even begin to fathom how terrorizing those must have been for him, one of them caused by someone he trusted enough to be intimate with.

“Can we lie down together?” Cas asks, sounding shy. “You make me feel safe.”

Self-hatred burns at the pit of Dean's stomach. “I didn't make you feel safe an hour ago.” Was it an hour? It felt like so much more.

“You didn't know,” Cas says as Dean pulls him down onto the bed and wraps around him from behind like a parentheses.

“Well now I do. And I promise you, I will never touch you without your permission again.”

Dean can hear the smile in Castiel's voice when he says, “You are a very righteous man.”

He feels his face heating up at that. “I wouldn't go that far.”

“Respectful, how about that?”

“Sounds a little better.”

Dean hears Cas take in a shaky breath like he's preparing to say something difficult.

“I know you want more from me than I can give you at the moment, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to. If you're not okay with that, I understand. But please break it off now, before I'd get even more hurt.”

Dean is crushed by those words, the concern in Cas' voice, the fear of abandonment. Castiel doesn't think he's worth it.

“Not gonna happen,” Dean assures him. “I'm with you for your quirky personality, the way you love things so deeply, they way you make me feel like I mean something in this world. You showed me so much kindness right off the bat when I was struggling. You kept your promise to not let me drink, even when I bitched at you.

“And sure, I would love to add intimacy to our relationship and man, does it feel good to say relationship.” He feels like such a sap saying all of this, but Cas really needs to hear it right now. “But if you're not ready, I'm fine with that. If you wanna test the waters while staying in your comfort zone, I'm all on board. We could stay away from penetrative sex, or you could try topping. I'm not gonna push you into anything you're not one hundred percent comfortable with. And like I said, I will only touch you once I have the okay from you, okay?”

When Dean's done with his little speech Cas rolls over to face him, eyes glossy.

“I officially give you permission to hug or kiss me at any time,” he says, and in response Dean presses one to the tip of his nose, which Castiel scrunches up in fake annoyance. “And right now I'm thanking every God I don't believe in for saving me and bringing me to you.”

Dean feels like his chest is about to burst at Cas' words as his boyfriend kisses him, slow and sweet with no tongue, and Dean is perfectly content with that.

*

They skip lunch, lying down together while Castiel crochets. He's getting a little better (just a little), with less holes and uneven patches, and Dean can tell now that it's going to be a beanie.

He hides it when Sam knocks on the door, asking if they're dressed.

“Get your ass in here, bitch.”

“Jerk,” his brother says, opening the door. He's with Andy, and they're each holding a tray of food.

They even made sure to bring Cas a vegetarian pasta instead of the spaghetti with meatballs. It's very thoughtful, and Dean and Cas both tell them that.

“When you decide to leave your little love nest,” Andy says, smirking, “more _Ancient Aliens_ is in order.”

Andy and Sam leave, and when their lunches are finished Castiel tells Dean he wants to go talk to Missouri.

He's gone for forty-five minutes, and when he returns he is calm and collected, which is a huge relief for Dean.

“She wants to see you next,” Cas tells him.

Dean doesn't know how much Castiel told her, so he's a little nervous when he enters the therapist's office. It probably shows on his face because the first thing Missouri says is, “You're not in trouble, don't worry.”

When Dean sinks into the plush chair she hands him a piece of paper.

“This is a consent form. Castiel is allowing me to talk to you about his case.”

“Wow,” Dean says, surprised at the amount of trust Cas is putting in him.

“It seems like he has already told you most, if not all of his story. But I warn you to focus on your recovery. Put it first before Castiel's.

“I also warn you to be careful with that boy. If you do something stupid, you and I are going to have some words.” Missouri looks at one of the wooden spoons on her wall and then back to Dean menacingly.

“Listen, ma'am, what we have, I'm not willing to give up. Not unless he wants me to.”

“I just want you to think about what you're getting into so you don't get serious and then decide you can't handle it and break his heart.

“His situation is a very difficult one, and he's going to need more professional help after this. Maybe for the rest of his life. His nightmares and flashbacks might never go away, and he may not ever be ready for the level of intimacy most couples share.”

“Believe it or not, I'm okay with that,” Dean tells her honestly. “Sex is great, I can't lie about that, but I enjoy being around Cas. As for the nightmares and flashbacks, I can deal with those just fine.”

Missouri's lips quirk up into the closest things Dean has ever seen as a smile on the woman's face.

“You'd better keep your word, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean is more grateful than scared that Cas has a such a fierce supporter.

“Yes ma'am, I will."


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has not been beta read yet. Once my fiance gets his ass in gear I will edit any mistakes that I missed.

Wednesday December 17  
(5 weeks into Dean and Sam's treatment)

 

When Castiel comes into the kitchen in the morning, hair wet from the shower, Dean smiles. Cas sits down next to him, wearing Dean's AC/DC t-shirt and his gray flannel. With that, and the huge red mark on Dean's neck, Cas seems to be marking his territory in any way he can short of peeing on him. It sends warmth and possession in his chest where that hollowness was after he saw Castiel with Meg because his boyfriend is taking this seriously and showing everyone that they are together and that one else is to touch them.

They get some raised eyebrows, a smirk from Andy, a huge grin from Charlie, and a crushed look from Becky, who sighs dramatically when Cas grabs Dean's hand that's resting on the table. She then trudges out of the room, coffee abandoned.

Thursday December 18

 

Dean is napping in their room when the door swings open and Castiel rushes in, slamming it behind him.

“Shit, shit, fuck.”

Dean is immediately both concerned and confused.

“Cas, what's wrong?”

His boyfriend runs into the bathroom, then back out holding the leather bathroom kit that Dean knows contains his heroin and paraphernalia.

“Room searches,” he says, sounding panicked and out of breath. “Give me a pen.”

“What? Why?”

Cas doesn't answer, but Dean hands him a pen anyways.

“Fuck, fuck fuck.” Castiel gets on his knees on the floor in front of a vent on the bottom of the wall. He starts using the pen cap to unscrew the panel. It takes a minute or two, but he gets it off and crams the drugs inside.

Cas only gets the second screw halfway back in before there's a knock at the door. He jumps away from the vent, stuffing the remaining screws into his pocket and sitting on the bed.

“Come in.”

Missouri, Tessa, Ash, and Sarah walk into the room, all wearing rubber gloves. Dean's heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest. Getting caught might mean Cas getting sent home, where he has next to no chance of recovering.

“If you gentlemen will step out of the room for a while, that would be appreciated,” Tessa says.

Dean and Castiel walk out into the hallway where Cas starts pacing, pulling his hair like he does when he's having a panic attack.

“Cas, relax. They probably won't find anything.” Dean gently pulls Castiel's hands out of his hair and strokes them with his thumbs.

The group of staff members comes out after fifteen minutes, faces stern, and Dean _knows_.

“Boys, step into the room with me,” Missouri says sternly as the others move on to the next room.

They follow her into the room and Dean sees the contents of Cas' kit spread out on the bed.

“It's mine,” Dean blurts out before thinking.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Cas says. “It's mine.”

Missouri looks at each of them for a few long seconds. “While I'm more inclined to believe that the heroin addict has been using heroin as opposed to the alcoholic, I will have Nurse Barnes drug test you both. Follow me, boys,” she says, radiating disapproval.

*

They're so fucked, Dean thinks as he pees into a cup for Pam. Not only is Cas going to get caught for using heroin, they both smoked weed with—Andy. Dean hopes there was nothing in his room that would prompt Missouri to have him tested.

Missouri glares at them in the waiting area while Pam checks the results until the nurse calls her into the office. Castiel grips Dean's hand tightly with is sweaty one in a vice that Dean would expect from a woman in labor. Dean wants to tell him that everything's going to be okay, but he thinks that no, it really won't be.

When Missouri comes back out she looks like she's channeling the wrath of God, and in a delirious moment, Dean imagines smoke pouring out of her ears.

“My office. _Now_.”

*

“I don't suppose you'll tell me how you got both heroin and marijuana into my facility.”

Castiel shakes his head, shamefully not meeting the therapist's eyes. “You're going to send me home, aren't you?” He grips the arms of the chair until his knuckles turn white. She's going to send him back, back to Zachariah and the community that turned against him.

“No, I'm not making you leave.”

Cas digs his fingernails into the leather. “But I'm a lost cause. I'm a drug addict, and that's all I'll ever be,” he says sadly. He'll be a prisoner in his own home for the rest of his life.

“Listen to me, Castiel,” Missouri says firmly, jabbing a finger in his direction. “Do not view yourself as an addict. You are a person with an addiction. Don't let it define you.”

Cas feels a rush of gratitude and just a little speck of confidence.

“There is no doubt in my mind that you will make a full recovery. See those plaques?” Castiel glances around the room and sees several among the wooden spoons. “I earned those because I'm good at what I do. I don't intend to fail you.”

Cas doesn't know what to say, but he hopes his expression conveys all of the affection and appreciation he's feeling towards her right now.

“That doesn't mean you're off the hook, though.”

Castiel doesn't even care what she's about to say. It's gonna suck, whatever punishment she's about to serve, in addition to the emotional and physical pain of getting clean, but he's not going home. He realizes how screwed up that thought is, when most residents can't wait to get out of Riverside.

“You and Mr. Winchester will be on kitchen duty and other chores for as long as I see fit. You won't be able to go on outings. And you will have random room searches and drug tests.”

“Thank you so much, ma'am.” He's getting off so easy.

“I'm giving you a second chance, Castiel. Don't let me down.”

*

“You coming rollerskating?” Sam asks excitedly. They're in Dean's room, Castiel in the bathroom, but Dean doesn't have to worry about that anymore.

“Can't,” Dean says simply.

“Why not?”

Dean sighs. He has to fess up eventually. “I got drug tested.”

“You what? _Dean_.” Dean feels the immense disappointment pouring out of his brother.

Dean raises his hands, palms facing Sam. “It was only weed.”

Sam groans, but his shoulders relax.

“Are you pissed?”

Sam runs a hand through his hair (that Dean's been contemplating cutting while his brother is sleeping).

“I should be, but no, not really.”

“Seriously?” Dean breathes out a sigh of relief. He didn't get kicked out, and Sam isn't angry.

“It's not alcohol,” Sam states.

“No, it's not."

“Just don't get your dumb ass kicked out.”

“I won't, Sammy. I promise.”

* 

Ellen Harvelle is not nearly as understanding.

“You goddamn,” a slap to the side of the head, “ungrateful,” a slap to the other side, “idiot!”

Dean winces and clutches his temples. “Ow."

“You're lucky you can even speak with what I'm itchin' to do to you.”

“I'm sorry.”

She makes a move to hit him again and he ducks away, backing into Castiel, who looks terrified.

“I am so disappointed in you Dean Winchester.” Shit, she means business when she uses his full name. “Bobby and I raised you better than this. And Jo, Jo looks up to you.”

Dean shamefully avoids her gaze as she turns to Castiel.

“Now, I don't know you well enough to smack you, but that doesn't mean I'll go easy on you, either. You messed up bad, son.”

“I understand,” Cas says shakily.

“Now, Castiel, you're on dish duty. I want them spotless, you hear? Dean, you'll be working the line with me. When everyone's gotten their food, we have microwave dinners in the back. You'll get fifteen minutes to eat, and then it's back to your chores."

“Yes, ma'am,” Dean and Cas say in unison.

“Alright, let's get to work.”

*

Sarah encourages Dean and Castiel to talk about their mistake in wrap-up group. Meg laughs, because she's a bitch and apparently got away with whatever dealings she's been doing. Dean still has no idea how she's getting drugs in, but he wants to find out.

After wrap-up Dean, Castiel, and some of the residents play poker until Missouri stomps in in her slippers and tells the two of them to get their butts into bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for kudos-ing and commenting. Feedback means a lot to me. :)


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